Memoirs of a Spy
by Mooglez
Summary: The breakout from La Bastille was unsuccessful. Forced into working for the S.A.B.R.E Force, under the guise of memory loss, Nilin aims to take down Memorize from the inside with help from the mysterious rebel Edge. Human!Edge x Nilin.
1. Chapter 1

**This story features a human Edge, so it will be an AU fic I suppose. Rated T for language.**

**Edge x Nilin pairing**

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There was a saying I had heard as a little girl; life flashes before your eyes when you die. I never believed that to be true until now.

Fragmented pieces of my life pass in front of my eyes and then disappear without a trace as quickly as they came. I try to focus on one, on any, but they're too slippery and each one passes out of my reach like a slimy worm. Reaching out to physically grasp one would do nothing, I know this, but my body reacts instinctively and within seconds I'm gripping the sides of my head frantically trying to calm the images and remove the indescribable pain.

I'm dying; no-one can survive this. My throat is burning and faintly I can hear the screams coming out of my mouth but it's all background noise. The pain radiating in my skull and behind my eyes are the only things I'm aware of and I curl into myself in another effort to protect my body.

But with an inaudible 'pop' the pain leaves in seconds, as do the bright lights that were in front of me moments ago, and it feels as though I was never in pain to begin with.

Unfolding my body I use my forearms as leverage on the cold tiled floor and catch my breath, feeling completely drained of energy.

"Good day," a male voice says from my left, "can you hear me?"

"Yes," I reply, barely able to muster up the one word answer and keeping my head low to the ground.

"What is your name?" the voice continues in a drawl.

"Nilin."

"What year," the man pauses, probably awaiting my answer but I can't think straight enough to reply. I should know the year, why do I feel so disoriented? The man doesn't seem too bothered though as he quickly grabs my arm, bruising the flesh underneath. "What did you say?"

"Nilin," I repeat between short breaths, hoping that's what he wanted, it's not as though I've said anything else to him.

"Damn," he releases my arm roughly and I feel my body drop back to the ground. "That's a first. Not to worry we'll scrape away those last memories. What year is it?"

"I don't know." I hold my head in my hands, desperate for the answer to such an easy question come to me.

"It's 2084. Do you know where you are?"

I slowly lift my head up to glance around the sterile looking room for any indication of familiarity. "No."

The man grips my chin in his clammy hand and forces me to look him in the eyes. There's something cold and ruthless in his, I can tell. He's getting off on my currently unsettled state and he smirks with the knowledge.

"Not so resistant after all. Thank you for your cooperation," he states calmly, releasing my chin to turn away once more.

"Doctor Quaid," he begins and I half turn towards him thinking he's talking to me. "This subject is displaying some resistance." Not me then, I'm merely the subject. I instantly hear another voice speak back to the uniformed man that grabbed me moments ago.

"Complete the substitution protocols," it says, "then send her to me. I'll erase her last barriers myself."

"Yes doctor." I hear, rather than see, the man leave, his heavy footsteps ungracefully echoing on the floor and with that in mind I know I'm relatively alone for now.

Mustering up all the energy I have left from whatever painful ordeal happened to me minutes ago I push up off my knees with vigour and attempt to straighten myself upright. My head swirls violently with the motion though, temporarily caught off-guard with vertigo, and I crumble onto a table nearby to catch myself. It takes several minutes more to compose myself but I make a second attempt to stand, much more slowly this time, and gather my bearings.

Stumbling out of the pitifully small room I was in I take a moment to look around. There were bustling people in green uniforms, moving up and down the dull grey corridors taking no notice of me whatsoever. Not even a curious glance.

A small drone hovers towards me though, circling my head a few times with incessant beeps.

"Move forward," it states robotically lighting up a path down the corridor for guidance.

'_How does it do that?' _I think, trying desperately to walk in a straight line and not give in sobbing to the painful throbs in my head. There's a faint buzz of static that comes with the pain, or is what's causing it. Static that I can hear so clearly I know I can't be imagining it.

The drone leads me into another room, this one occupied with a couple of people in the far end dressed in white.

"Move forward, please," it continues, hovering about. It stops behind one of the men dressed in white. They're lined up for something. I don't focus on what as the static is coming back quickly and with more force. It disappears though, and in its spot I hear a man.

"Nilin, can you hear me?"

"Yes," I feel a sense of déjà vu wash over me.

"They're about to wipe your brain, Nilin. Don't let them do it," he says firmly in my brain, or more likely my ear. Whose about to wipe my brain? I see one of the men in line take a seat on a metal chair a few meters in front of me. Tubes with metallic clasps come down and attach to his temples causing his body to shake uncontrollably before the chair gives way and drops his body into a pit below.

My stomach churns, but there's no food in it to throw up anyway. I've been through pain before, I think. Maybe it won't be so bad. It might even be a good thing, perhaps it's used to get rid of disorientation.

"I need to create a diversion. Be ready to move when I say!" the now static-less voice demands. I can sense his desperation in his tone and it's enough for me to follow his lead. For the moment, at least.

"Who are you?" I whisper to him. I hear him inhale sharply at my question as though pained, before exhaling with a sigh.

"I'm the voice you have to listen to if you want to live." His line goes quiet and I instantly miss the loss of human contact, however brief. I can't do this by myself, I can't.

'_Don't leave me alone,'_ I plead silently as the line of people continues to shuffle forward. Only one more and it'll be me in that chair. Before I can descend into full-blown panic the room gets enclosed in darkness and an alarm goes off, effectively distracting me enough to clear my head.

"That got their attention." The kind voice was back. "Nilin, the large metal shutter is going to rise on your left. If you heard me move your head, I'm linked to your Sensen. I'll feel it."

I don't move my head immediately, though I heard him perfectly clear. It was the crash from behind me at the entrance of the room that made me swivel around in place. Large men in orange and red armour were trying to pry apart the doors. '_It must have locked when the alarms went off.'_

"The door! Go under it, now!" he continues to yell into my ear. I move as fast as I can towards the ajar door, but in my current state that doesn't mean much. Lying flat on my stomach I drag my body under the metal frame with clenched fists, wincing as my muscles pull with the effort.

Halfway through I feel a solid hand grab my ankle and tug forcefully. Yelling out in protest I dig my fingernails into the ground in front of me and kick out my leg aiming at whoever has me. I hear their pained grunts and I smile a little at the small success but I'm pulled backwards still and they grab a hold of my calf as well, dragging the rest of my body back into the dark room.

"No, Nilin!" the voice in my ear yells frantically. "Fuck! _Fuck!"_

"I'm sorry," I whisper to him, genuinely meaning it but not entirely sure why. It's not like he's the one that's being dragged painfully by brutes. Whoever it was that had my calf releases it and pulls me upright by the arms, lifting me off the ground.

"You're damn right you're sorry, Doll," the assailant holding me whispers, his voice full of rage. "You really thought you could escape La Bastille on the great Vaughn's watch?" He shakes my body like a ragdoll and I shut my eyes at the horrible sensation.

"Nilin, my name is Edge," the voice in my ear was back. "I'm going to make this all right, you have to believe me. I'm going to fix this." His voice is clipped, like he's trying to stay calm for my sake but he can't quite contain his anger. His breath is coming out in shudders.

"I believe you."

I can't see the man holding me, the _great Vaughn_'s face, as it's covered almost completely with a dark red helmet but I know his anger has ebbed as his hands loosen their painfully tight grips on my arms and I'm lowered back to the floor. I don't even have the energy to stand back up.

"It was a 'yes' or 'no' question, Doll. I guess they rattled you up a little more than necessary," he smirks, not understanding I wasn't talking to him.

"Now, I'm willing to look past this little, ah, transgression here for a price," Vaughn says, leering down at me with a disgusting grin as he motions down his body. It doesn't take a genius to work out what kind of price he wants me to pay and I'm disgusted with the knowledge he's allowed to even try.

"That sick bastard!" Edge spits out, not bothering to contain himself for the moment. I take a page from Edge and hock up a small amount of saliva to spit at Vaughn's shoes.

Instead of the anger I expected, his partially uncovered mouth twists into a smile and the two other uniformed men glance at each other.

"Sir," one begins with caution, "should we alert Madame about the attempted escape?"

"No," he replies, bending down to lift me up once more. "You won't tell, and she won't tell. She won't even remember it." Vaughn pushes the person who was waiting in line in front of me away to the side and pulls me towards the vacant chair. I squirm in his hold, digging my fingers into his arm and trying to claw at his face.

Laughing at my efforts he dumps me into the metal chair and manually binds my wrists to it.

"Um, Sir?" one of Vaughn's henchmen looks towards us, a puzzling frown on his lips. With an exaggerated sigh Vaughn turns back towards the men.

"I don't plan on killing her. It would be a waste to lose such a fiery temper," he begins, tuning back to face me. "And body. Besides, it was originally Doctor Quaid's idea."

I glare at him as fiercely as possible while he adjusts what look to be dials on a panel, near my chair. At the realisation that this is actually happening, whether I want it to or not, I begin to panic, struggling with my binds and losing my breath.

"Edge," I whisper so the soldiers can't hear me. "Edge!"

"I'm right here, Nilin. I'm with you," Edge replies, calming me for a split second. "They're going to try reconversion on you and from the looks of it Sergeant Vaughn," he hisses the name with revulsion, "has added the memories of a fallen S.A.B.R.E Force troop."

I don't know exactly what that means, but I know it can't be good. Damn it! Why are these bindings so tight!

"Nilin, focus. I've already set the machine back to factory settings and combined with the power outage before they won't be able to mess with your mind any more than they already have."

Vaughn finishes fiddling with the dials and comes around to face me.

"When this is done, mind if I keep you as a private soldier?" he laughs, hovering over a holographic button, activating the immobile chair.

The chair jerks backwards and I feel the sweat begin to drip down my forehead onto my nose. It stops in place and lights flicker on directly above it. I clench my eyes shut tightly to avoid the shielded gaze of Vaughn and to prepare for the oncoming pain.

"I'm so sorry, Nilin," _he _whispers to me in a pained voice. "I will be with you for every step. I promise you. I promise."

It was the most reassuring thing he could've said to me and as the machine tries to infiltrate my mind, unsuccessfully, I try to keep a hold of his words. There's too much pain though.

I can't catch my breath, I can't think. I think Edge might be trying to say something more but I can't hear him. Feeling my body slump forward, held in place by the metal clasps on my wrists, I sense my mind shutting down for the second time in an hour and the darkness engulfs me.

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**Thanks for reading... I've got big plans for these two. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Rated T for language.**

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I awoke to a dull ache in the back of my mind. It wasn't painful but it wasn't pleasant; it was simply another way of knowing I was alive. Blinking slowly against the harsh lights my eyes adjusted to the brightness to view my surroundings.

There was a man, dressed in white and green, standing a few feet away tracing his fingers over a holographic image on the wall with his back turned to me. The rest of the room was boring – pure white walls and a see-through glass door. It wasn't until I tilted my head down to check my body that I felt the tubes running down my throat. Launching myself into an upright sitting position I claw at my mouth to remove the foreign object and splutter when I finally get it out.

'_Well that's one Hell of a way to wake up,' _I think sarcastically as I weakly cough up the fluids that were being pumped into me. There's a steady stream of liquid coming out the end of the plastic tube in my hand and I throw it away from me in disgust, watching as it dangles off the edge of the bed I'm sitting on.

The man in the room half-turns at the sound of my coughing and smiles at me while dragging his hand in a quick motion over the hologram on the wall, dismissing it.

"It's about time you awoke. I take it you didn't enjoy your breakfast," he laughs with a gesture towards the tubes running off the bed. I remain silent though, obviously not finding the same amusement in the situation. He pauses somewhat awkwardly before continuing, "My name is Sebastian Quaid. You, however, may simply address me as Doctor Quaid. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I whisper, not breaking eye contact with him. A small game of 'who looks away first' I find myself playing.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, Doctor Quaid."

He nods in satisfaction and pulls a small writing pad out of the pocket of his crisp uniform. "Now, due to Sergeant Vaughn's over-eagerness to play doctor with you I'm not sure exactly where we stand regarding your treatment." He walks over to where I'm sitting and grabs my chin, tilting my head left and right, studying my eyes. Making a sound that can only be described as happiness he releases my jaw and hugs his pad to his chest.

"Oh, yes. Dilated pupils, unfocused vision," he exclaims, looking down to his device, "and a lowered body temperature. It's a shame they didn't take the time to enact a total memory deletion before attempting reconversion."

"Quite a shame," I remark, not able to curb the bitterness from my voice. Quaid's lips curl down in displeasure as his cheeks flush an angry pink.

"Do not provoke him, Nilin!" Edge was back in my ear. "He's nothing more than a wild animal that attacks first and thinks later. Pretend to be obedient and they may leave you alone." I lower my eyes to the floor, trusting Edge's advice and faking submission. There are a few tense moments of silence and I glance up at the doctor quickly. He's shaking his head and scribbling something down. Quaid releases a huff, straightens his shoulders and back up so his towering form almost dwarfs mine, and turns to face me.

"Subject 84-178, stand up," he commands, pointing to the ground at my feet. I suppose that's what they want to call me now, removing my name to erase my identity. As if it could be _that _easy. Nevertheless I do swing my legs completely over the bed and push off it, standing up unsteadily. It only takes a second though before I'm stable and my body stops wobbling. Whatever they did to me, or just being able to rest, really did get rid of a lot of my disorientation.

"Raise your arms straight out to the side," he continues and I follow the instruction. Compared to how I was getting about earlier, _yesterday?_, doing these motions easily relives me. I half thought I'd be unable to walk properly for a year. "Now raise them straight up, over your head." I do that with ease, too. Quaid continues to ask me to perform basic body movements for a couple of minutes before he nods, as satisfied with the results as I am.

"Hey, Doc, command her to touch herself next!" Standing at the see-through door of the room, one hand pressed up against them with a leer on his face was Sergeant Vaughn. His face uncovered by the helmet was truly repulsive to look at, a brutish man with almost pig-like features.

"He's the first one I'm going to take out when I get inside," Edge whispers lowly. I want to smile at the thought but Vaughn will probably take it as a sign to him, so I remain expressionless.

As Doctor Quaid lets him in I notice that in the Sergeant's other hand is an orange garment of some kind. Entering the room, or cell rather, he throws the orange fabric at my face which I catch with quick reflexes.

"Why're you here?" Vaughn asks the doctor in gruff tones, folding his arms across his chest. "I told ya I had everything under control."

"You most certainly did not and need I remind you that you are a Sergeant, not a qualified doctor. I had to find out from Madame that you took it upon yourself to begin _my _reconversion therapy." Quaid folds his arms as well, imitating Vaughn's stance though he's considerably shorter. "I was with a very important patient at Nymphéa whom I had to leave in less competent hands."

"More important than the second most wanted Errorist?" Vaughn motions back to me without sparing a glance.

"Of course not, but Olga Sedova's payments for her husband have been writing your payslip for several months."

"I don't care where the money comes from, Doc, so long as I get paid," Vaughn finishes, turning his back to Quaid to address me. "Get changed. Madame wants to see whether your fighting skills have improved."

"Whether they have regressed, you mean," Quaid whispers under his breath.

I look down at the garment in my hands, unfurling it to assess. It was a sleeveless tracksuit, completely orange save for a few white strips and the numbers '84-178' written in black vertically on one of the legs. Glancing back to the others I notice they haven't made a move to leave; I want to take the opportunity to ask why I had to get changed in the first place but I'm supposed to be playing the obedient role for now. Instead I keep moving my gaze between the two men and the door waiting for them to pick up on the fact I would need privacy to change. Thankfully Quaid gets the hint quickly and ushers Vaughn out of the cell.

"You have five minutes exactly, Nilin. I will be counting," he says sternly, walking through the see-through door, closing it behind him.

"Nilin?" I question, still able to see the doctor, at least I get my name back. I know the room's not sound-proof as the condescending laugh from Vaughn echoes through and the doctor fixes him with a steely glare while doing something on the outside of the cell.

"Five minutes." A metal covering soon drops over the transparent door and Vaughn's laughter is abruptly cut.

"Hello?" I call out. No-one answers back.

'_The metal sheet must be sound-proof,' _I think, beginning to fumble with the latches on my current outfit. I definitely do not want to take more than five minutes and have that sleazeball catch a glimpse of my skin.

"Edge?" I call out softly, pulling material off my shoulders and rolling it down to my waist.

"I'm here, Nilin," he replies as I kick off the rest of the white prison clothes, leaving me almost nude for a couple of seconds save for an old, worn out bra and underwear. I glance around nervously fumbling to put the orange jumpsuit on quickly.

"Can you see me?"

"No, not while you're in a closed cell. I'm able to visually monitor you by intercepting the drones and cameras they place around the prison but at times like these I only have your voice." Edge sounds tired and I imagine him as a faceless man propped up on an elbow, rubbing his temples.

"How long have I been out for? Have you been monitoring me the whole time?" I ask, fastening up my new inmate garb with record speed. _'Not even a full minute'._

"Almost ten hours," he whispers, "and I haven't been for the whole time. After they transferred you here I took ten minute naps every hour. I didn't want to sleep through anything important and I needed to keep an eye on your vitals."

It was comforting to know someone had my back in this Hell-hole. I'm not sure why Edge singled me out to help and, as selfish as it may be, I'm so incredibly grateful he did pick me.

"How can you keep an eye on my vitals?"

"I'm linked to your Sensen, remember? It's the circular disc on the nape of everyone's neck – installed at the moment of birth in every developed country. Another means to control the masses," he says in a dark voice. I'm speechless for a second, not really knowing what to say back to that.

"Oh," I start again uncertainly, " Edge, how did I get here? I can't even remember what the outside world looks like properly let alone any crime I might have committed out there."

"You didn't commit any crime!" Edge thunders, physically jolting my body in surprise. Lowering his voice but not releasing the anger behind it he continues, "You didn't commit a crime. You can't control what weak-minded people do to themselves. That is their burden, not yours. They were after you, after me, because we wanted to help free people from their mental prisons." He was making no sense.

"I don't understand," is the only thing I can think to say. He pauses for a brief moment, a moment too long considering all the questions I have and the limited time to ask them in.

"We were strategizing in a room behind the Leaking Brain." I'm about to open my mouth to ask what the Leaking Brain was, hoping it wasn't a literal brain, but he's already answering my unasked question. "It's a bar in Slum 404, the impoverished and neglected district of Neo-Paris, run by a good man, Headache Tommy."

"A man named Headache Tommy runs the Leaking Brain? A bit obsessed with the head region, I take it?"

Edge laughs but without any amusement behind it. "He was a prisoner in La Bastille as well, back before dear old Sebastian decided physical torture combined with mental deterioration wasn't the most effective means of ensuring complicity among prisoners. Tommy's not obsessed; he just doesn't want to forget another moment and trying to remember the past gives him, well, a headache."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean anything by it," I whisper afraid that I've insulted Edge or one of his friends. He doesn't seem to hold it against me though.

"I know, Nil. It's not you I'm upset with, I don't think I'll ever be upset with you," his voice is calming and I feel any tension I had release. I jump back onto the soft bed so I can concentrate on his story.

"Okay, so we were at this Leaking Brain bar, what happened then?"

"There were six of us there, not including Tommy, just talking about one of our plans to free this nation from – well, just talking about a plan. We were attacked by the newly appointed Captain Trace and his cronies in an unfair attack, claiming we were responsible for the suicide of a former captain of their police force."

"A suicide?" I gasp out. How could six people be responsible for someone's suicide?

"That's right. They're corrupt enough to send nearly twenty Enforcers to a peaceful gathering over a suspicious death. We are the most wanted people in Neo-Paris and those that want us dead have virtually no proof of any misdeeds, just their fears and suspicions."

I took a second to think it over, imagining it actually happening. Five other people just like me, a group of armed soldiers like Vaughn breaking down a door and huddling us together with the ends of their weapons. If we really were a peaceful group then my captivity and removal of memories is simply inhumane. I feel anger begin to fester in my stomach and I dig my fingertips into the bedding.

"So how did I end up here and you elsewhere?"

"You were our best fighter. Physically, at least. We were getting overrun by S.A.B.R.E Force though so when you finished with a soldier I grabbed you and started to take you out of the line of fire. Everyone else was already fleeing but our newest and youngest brother, Bad Request, was being pulled back by Captain Trace and suffered a pretty terrible beating," Edge says, taking another shuddering breath. "I wouldn't let you get to him though, I was a bad leader and I wasn't thinking things through properly. You punched me in the nose and went back to help Bad. He managed to get away with your help but Trace short-circuited your Sensen before I could recover enough to help."

I breathe out slowly, tensing and relaxing my fingers in a rhythm. "Okay. You mentioned this Bad Request being our brother. Are we family?" The thought of Edge being my brother was, well, a little disturbing. I'm not sure why but I had truly thought I was a sibling-less orphan.

"Yes," he replies, "not biologically. But we were family, you and me with the others."

"You don't have other family?" I enquire, curious to know more about the only person I trust at the moment.

"No other family. It was always just you and me." I hear the smile in his voice, the way it relaxes as though lost in his own memories. "Now's not the time to discuss the past though. They're unlocking the door."

I immediately quiet myself, hoping our conversation wasn't overheard, and rearrange my jumpsuit so it sits comfortably. Within a few seconds the metal on the door slides up, revealing a grinning Vaughn and composed Quaid. As soon as he sees me sitting idly on the bedding completed dressed Vaughn's grin slips off his face.

"Damn," he says snidely, "Even four minutes was too long. Come here," he grabs my arm and yanks me off the bed with unnecessary force, "we're off to see Madame." After a couple of prods in the back I find myself walking out of the small cell and past other inmates, many of who were screaming or rocking back and forth mumbling nonsense.

After a couple of minutes we arrive in what looks to be a training room, there were other people dressed similar to Vaughn punching and kicking away at sparring dummies, their grunts filling the room. Pacing around the room, moving from one man to the next, was an elegant looking woman with short brown hair in an olive-brown fitted lady suit. She was walking with purpose, one handing clutching the top of a cane while the other flaunted about to gesture wildly as she spoke.

Noticing our arrival she takes quick and precise steps to stand in front of us. Doctor Quaid tilts his head towards her slightly in a respectful nod.

"Madame, here she is, good as new," he says while placing a hand on my lower back and pushing me forward a little in the direction of the Madame.

"Good as new you say?" She looks me over with a scoff. "The most famous memory hunter Neo-Paris has to offer and it looks as though she's having trouble standing." The Madame turns abruptly to point at one of the sparring men, "You! Come here at once. I want to see what she's capable of myself."

The man Madame pointed to comes towards me in a menacing fashion, arms swinging and shoulders squared. He stops a meter away, just looking at me and I do the same, did they want me to fight him this very instance? It seemed so as all it took was a flourish of Madame's wrist and the brute brings his clenched fist back aiming a punch towards my face. Instinctively I dive out of the way to the side and the man counters with a roundhouse kick to my torso, which I'm able to expertly cartwheel over. I don't remember learning these moves and yet the man cannot land a single hit on me.

"You have to fight him back," Edge says suddenly, distracting me enough for the man to land a solid punch on my shoulder. "Fighting is subconscious, Nilin, you can take this weasel on."

I rub my shoulder for a second while the man I'm fighting smirks with victory, he's not fast enough to react when I swing my leg around and catch him in his side, sending him halfway across the room. There's an incredible surge of power and satisfaction I get from what I just did, being able to knock a man of that size right off his feet. The soldier gets back up and charges straight for me again but I'm ready for him and with acrobatic prowess I'm able to leap over him and elbow him in the back of his head, right above his Sensen.

He drops to the ground onto his knees and raises his arms across each other signalling an 'X'. The Madame laughs from behind us and brings her cane down onto the training room floor three times in quick taps.

"More!" she demands, "All of you, now." The other four men who had been spectating immediately rush forward at her command and start to throw punches and kicks wildly at the air, hoping to catch me off guard. It's like I'm in slow motion though, I can assess the entire situation and avoid the oncoming onslaught of flying limbs while countering with my own. I can't remember my life outside this prison, but fighting like this feels so natural that I can't help but wonder whether I really was one of the bad guys previously.

In less than a minute I had taken down the remaining four opponents and I never even broke a sweat. Catching my breath I felt a hand clamp onto my shoulder and I turn to see Madame smiling at me, like a long lost sister.

"Wonderful, my darling, wonderful," she cries, using her grip on my shoulder to steer me towards the exit, "I knew you were a decent combatant as a memory hunter but it seems you are just as skilled without any knowledge of your previous experience." She turns to face Quaid, who is still clutching his writing pad and unmoving. "Sebastian, what did you say her reconversion stage is at? Twelve per cent?"

The doctor quickly looks down at the device in his hands and then back towards Madame. "That's right, Astrid, just a touch over twelve per cent."

"Pause her current treatment for now; I want to send her with Sergeant Vaughn on the Slum mission. If it is unsuccessful or she is uncooperative we will resume her reconversion." Quaid and Vaughn glance uneasily at each other.

"Get up, you fools, you have a mission in twenty minutes," she spits at the men I had just beaten up, still crumpled on the ground. They must have been training for something before we walked in. They each get up slowly and leave with their heads bowed looking worse for wear. I don't feel any guilt though, they were attacking a defenceless prisoner four to one. "Quaid, I'll let you see to it that she arrives at the airship on time."

"Yes, Madame."

"Good. Sergeant Vaughn, follow me," Madame says while letting go of my shoulder to walk at the side of the unfriendly Sergeant. "Oh," she pauses to turn back to me, "Just so you know if you ever try to attack a ranking member of this facility, such as myself or Captain Trace, your Sensen is configured to temporarily short-circuit, rendering you unconscious. We didn't bother securing the safety of these no-bodies though, so do what you will with them. It may even amuse me," she laughs coldly again, walking away with Vaughn, her cane echoing from their path.

Doctor Quaid quickly fills her place beside me though and attempts to lead me out by placing his hand in the same spot Madame's was. I shrug him off completely but he doesn't seem to mind.

"It is a shame I must take pause with your treatment," he starts while we walk in the opposite direction of the other two, "but you will screw up on this mission, Nilin. Then I will continue with your therapy with increased dosages." I look at him in shock, did he just _threaten _me? He pays me no mind though and continues to walk me through a series of doors and courtyards.

"Ask him what the mission is about," Edge begins in my ear, "don't be too eager about it though."

I wait a few seconds before looking up at the roof and as casually as possible say, "What is this mission about anyway?"

"A little nosy for a prisoner newly turned soldier, I think," he laughs, "I don't know. I'm the doctor, not the Captain."

We end up in front of a small locker that Quaid opens with a swipe of his finger. There's a long line of different coloured syringes and medical equipment all arranged in a clinical way. He runs his finger over each of them making a clicking sound with his tongue before removing a small vial of red liquid and an empty syringe. I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I watch him assemble the pieces together.

"What's that for?" I ask without thinking. I'm trying very hard to remain as quiet and docile as possible but a mad doctor with a locker of medical equipment is making my imagination run wild. He stops to admire the liquid floating in the syringe for half a second before his hand shoots out and grabs my bare arm, twisting it towards him and sinking the sharp needle into the fleshy part of my elbow crease. I scream out, desperately try to twist away from him, half debating whether I should take the risk of attacking him but I feel the tip of the needle pulling inside me, causing more damage and pain so I quiet my screams, becoming still and tense.

"Fucking Hell, what was that!" Edge roars with fury. "That stupid, fucking bastard!"

I don't say anything, trying to keep all my focus on remaining calm and not ripping the doctor's head right off his shoulders. He wouldn't hurt me, from the sounds of it I was important to these people. A wanted woman. Quaid seems to read my mind as he brushes hair off my forehead that had started to stick with sweat.

"I can't hurt you, or continue my therapy on you; this was simply a mood stabilizer. Oh, wait," he looks down at the syringe in his other hand, "I believe this was the one that raised hostility in their subjects. Whoops. Looks like you may just fail this mission after all, especially if you're… hostile enough to attack your Captain and fellow crew." He chuckles as he closes the medical locker and walks to the end of another corridor. I follow, seething with internal rage and rubbing the crook of my elbow where the needle entered.

"Nilin," Edge calls out, "I can't remove the properties of whatever that was because it's a direct physical substance rather than one linked to your Sensen. All I can do from here is monitor your signs and try to help you through them. Worse comes to worse you attack the Captain, hopefully I'll have a lock on your location and get to you before the others; assuming what Madame claims about your Sensen short-circuiting after attacking personnel is true." I nod in response, knowing that he can see me as we're in a well-lit area of La Bastille.

Quaid opens a door a few feet in front of me and a gust of fresh air hits my face. I can see the sky, a bright blue speckled with white clouds and nearby birds are singing. There's a long platform with a large aircraft perched in the middle, half a dozen men in red uniforms are surrounding the craft with some already climbing aboard. As we approach the aircraft I see Vaughn coming to meet us half way, fully suited up once more. I suddenly feel very incompetent in my orange, shoe-less prison outfit compared with everyone else's uniform – despite the fact I beat up the majority of them barely ten minutes ago.

"Turn around," Vaughn says to me, twirling his index finger around in a clockwise motion. "I need to install a unit in your Sensen. It's compulsory for all recruits." I'm sceptical but turn around nonetheless, there's nothing else I can do if I didn't want a fight. I can feel Vaughn pulling and prodding electronically at the back of my Sensen, unsure what it is he's doing exactly. Suddenly he stops and I turn around to see him staring at me with curiosity.

"He was installing a tracking system," Edge says in a dark tone. "I don't know why he stopped before it finished."

Vaughn heads back to the aircraft and grabs a tiny silver orb from it before making his way back to where Quaid and I were standing.

"Your little fugitive fiancé is still at large," he begins, pressing the silver orb into my skin and watching it disappear. I can feel my anger multiplying; how _dare _these people invade my body with their liquid substances and strange glowing orbs. How dare they think they have the right! "So we're going to have to track your location with this little guy. Just in case you try any daring escape."

He pushes me towards the flying machine and I hastily get in, anything to distract myself from bursting out in anger and murdering someone. I pick a seat at the back, furthest away from any of the others who are glaring at me with contempt. As soon as I buckle myself into the strange vehicle I feel it jolt and lift off from the ground, making squeaking sounds and rough movements.

"Now, gentlemen," a man from the front begins addressing the others, "and prisoner. This mission should be an easy one, code grey, low priority, so I don't want to see any fuck ups. You hear?" There's a responding chorus of 'yes, Captain' from the men. "We will disembark in area two of Slum 404. From there it's east through the floating markets to the suspects home and workplace, the Leaking Brain. We want him alive on suspicions of providing shelter and passing information to the Errorist organisation and number one priority Edge himself."

Edge gasps into my ear and I know why, they're after Headache Tommy and they want me to help bring him down.

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**Thanks for reading. Would love to know what you guys think (especially since this fandom is so small!)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Rated T for language and violence.**

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After the captain – Trace, I believe – resumes his seat in front of the rest of us the airship quickly becomes overloaded with mumblings of excitement from the soldiers and I can almost smell their testosterone spike up in anticipation of a brawl. They were paired together in couples as the seating arrangement of the craft was designed for two chairs per row and I'm thankful the soldier who took his place next to me seems just as happy to keep quiet as I am while the others chatter on.

"I hear he went insane and tried to scratch his own face off. Left him blind in one eye," I overhear one of the soldiers a few rows in front of me remark. Cackles of laughter burst out from others as they join in on the conversation. "Nah, man, didn't you hear he claimed it was his reflection that broke out of a mirror and got 'im?"

The quiet man next to me begins to join in on the laughter, a deep rumble that shakes his thick, curly red beard side to side. "No, no, the official report was that he put the moves on Madame and she ripped him a new one," he says, making a clawing motion down the left side of his face while the men hoot and holler, almost disrespectfully at Madame's expense, around the room. The man's voice is as deep as his laugh, with an accent that doesn't match the others or my own.

It's only when Trace lifts a single hand with his palm up, a signal to stop, that everyone quiets back down into silence and the only sounds heard are the rumblings from the jets. I take the moment of silence to look about the flying machine's interior; holographic maps and destination points fill the space on the walls that consistently change ever so slightly with every second that passes. Half a dozen shields lie propped against the exit door with metallic, heavy-looking gloves on a rack beside them and while I know these are the weapons the soldiers – Enforcers, I think I remember Edge call them – use, they don't look dangerous at all.

After a few minutes of calm I hear the men slowly begin to start talking to each other again, Trace's earlier motion for silence dismissed. They don't speak at the same level as before and only seem to be talking to their seating neighbour, so I'm able to easily shut their voices out, rendering it as background noise. It wouldn't be in my best interest to get agitated by them in an enclosed space, unarmed, with these men who would happily send me back kicking and screaming to Doctor Quaid if agitation turned into violent outbursts.

I release a deep sigh, freeing myself of irritation and turn to the accented man on my left only to find him staring unabashedly at me, his deep red eyebrows raised in thought. In an instant of delusion I imagine the man soaking his hair and beard in a bucket of blood, infusing the colour into the follicles permanently.

"What?" I ask in annoyance which only serves for the man to raise his eyebrows higher, almost disappearing into his hairline.

"Nothing. It's just we match," he replies, pointing between a spot on his breast-plate and the numbers on my leg. I lean closer to examine his armour where 'B-178' is engraved into the metal. Looking down at my own pant leg I can vaguely see how he might think B-178 matches 84-178 but it really wasn't too much of a leap in my mind, I doubt they were very original when it came to numbering patients and henchmen in La Bastille.

I throw him a hesitant smile rather than saying anything and he responds with a warm one of his own before he leans back against the headrest, pressing a button on the side of his open-faced helmet which encloses the rest of his face except the mouth and beard. Looking back around I notice the others have already begun to shield their faces and Captain Trace has risen from his seat.

"We're descending into area two now," he begins, "Leaper threats are minimal according to our surveillance drones so we will stay in formation and head east from the landing point."

I can feel the aircraft getting pulled down underneath my feet, attempting to land as gracefully as a five-thousand kilogram machine can without destroying itself. As soon as the underside of the contraption touches the ground the exit door slides open, pushing all the shields that were against it to fall into a heap together. Trace stands imposingly at the exit point ushering everyone, who already grabbed a shield and glove, out with firm pushes against their backs.

"Go, go!"

I lean forward to reach for a weapon but I'm pulled back and held in place by Vaughn's brawny arm, whose hand rests strongly on my collarbone. He picks up the last available glove and slips it on using only one hand before bending slightly, never taking his other arm off me, to retrieve the last shield as well. As the others scramble outside into the fresh air Vaughn looks down at me from an intimidating height while Trace glances impatiently at his watch.

"You're a temporary rookie; I don't trust ya with a glove this powerful even if it's not the Hunter's glove you Errorists use."

"Sergeant," Trace interrupts sharply, "control yourself. It was my understanding the Errorist has already undergone memory deletion _and _the latest reconversion project. She shouldn't know what a Hunter's glove is let alone how to use one." It was true, I had absolutely no idea what Vaughn was going on about and was beginning to feel the familiar sense of irrational anger bubble under my skin, most likely influenced by Quaid's red syringe. It must have shown in my face as Trace steps forward and removes the Sergeant's hand from my chest.

"You two are wasting time, do not make me repeat myself."

As we exit through the door, with Captain Trace trailing behind us, Vaughn takes hold of my left hand and pulls me to his side. The shield in his other hand forms a protective wall for our left flank and hides us from a couple of stares.

"You'll stay at my side for this whole mission," he whispers to me as we walk to the front of the group. "You have no protection, no weapons and nobody out there that wants to help you, regardless of anything I accidentally said or others have mistakenly told you. Errorists only look out for themselves," he squeezes my fingers together roughly before letting go entirely. "You're a rookie Enforcer now."

Captain Trace walks past us in long strides, turning to face the crowd of soldiers.

"For those who don't know our target," he says looking directly at me, "he is dark-skinned, aged early to mid-thirties and wears his hair in a braid."

"Dreadlocks, Commander," I hear the deep voice of B-178 pip up from the background as Trace fixes the group with a steely glare. I muffle laughter at the thought of half a dozen armed militias undertaking an important mission to bring down a man with a beautiful, thick flowing braid.

After a few seconds of terse silence Trace begins to lead us in the direction I can only assume the Leaking Brain is. I now understand why he called them the floating markets before; we were several metres off the ground on a walkway made of wood and metal sheets that seemed to be held up by rickety wooden poles. It wasn't even a ground really, it was a murky green water canal that raced under the walkway. I jump up and down once to test how sturdy the structure under us was but a quick glare from Vaughn stops me from doing it again. It seems stable enough, anyway.

'_The fresh air out here is doing wonders for my mood,'_ I think absentmindedly. I can imagine myself becoming an Enforcer simply to get more opportunities out here with the sun and sky, and it's so peacefully quiet. There are no alarms, or screams, or eccentric doctors.

I'm walking forward with the group, my face towards the sky soaking in the sun's rays, using Vaughn's massive body as guidance beside me when I hear screams close by. Snapping my head back down quickly I look around to find the source of the scream, subconsciously readying myself into a fighting stance, as the others halt and look around in confusion. The scream sounds again, this time from in front of us and a man comes around the corner of a wooden stall to face us.

He looks absolutely insane. He's thin and sickly in appearance with tousled hair slick with oils and ratty clothes that barely stay on his body properly. He comes barrelling towards us, his hands gripping the hair at his temples and pulling them right out at the roots. He screams again and Vaughn tugs me in to his side while the crazy man scuttles through our path harmlessly.

"Johnny can't have my heart. Not this Christmas. Not these teeth," his yells echoing further into the distance the farther away he gets. I stand still, shock running through me as the others begin to carry onward again. That man was obviously crazy, sick in the head, and no-one thinks to help him to a hospital.

Vaughn begins to move forward with the rest, my body still at his side getting pulled along with him. I wrench away from him and look at the men in slight disgust.

"Isn't anyone going to go back to help him?" I demand, my hand reaching back behind me to signal where the insane man ran off to. I don't think this would count as disobedience, not that I particularly care right now. _Keep calm, Nilin._ Several men don't even bother hiding their amusement and laugh outright at my statement, one even going so far as to wipe fake tears out of his eyes.

"Oh sure, let's go back and ask the Leaper-to-be if he's okay. Great plan, rookie."

"Well it's not like there's anyone else here that can help," I say looking around at the empty stalls and gesturing to the few scattered robots cleaning up the closed stores.

Trace opens his mouth, probably to tell me to shut up and follow orders, but hastily closes it before looking around at the wooden stalls, still full with fruits and various food dishes. There's a split second where it looks like he's come to a horrible conclusion.

"Shit!" he yells, causing a few nearby androids to perk up with curiosity. "Go, men! Target in possible escape attempt." The soldiers begin to sprint forward past Vaughn and me, making their way through the market place and over narrow paths. I follow closely behind the group keeping up easily as I don't have a shield or armour weighing my movements down.

Their actions are precise and speedy, knocking down carts that stand in their way and pushing over androids that block their path. In this moment they look like professional soldiers, an elite squad.

Within two minutes we arrive at another section of the markets, packed with fifteen or so robots attending to more empty stalls. I can see the bar from my spot behind Vaughn's shoulder, the Leaking Brain, a run-down excuse for a tavern with a broken neon sign swinging up high and upturned stools. There were no customers and no-one behind the counter to serve them – it was deserted.

Trace leaps over the counter rather gracefully for a man of his size and pulls random items off the shelf. "Secure the area! Spread out and detain the civilians if you must. We want him alive," he yells to us.

The soldiers fumble around awkwardly for a split second, trying to decide the best route to take and they begin to fan out in all directions out of sight, jumping over railings onto other pathways and climbing ladders for a better vantage point.

Vaughn grabs my wrist, twisting it to point me to run in another direction with him. As he swivels around and begins to charge forward in search of Headache Tommy he slams into the side of an inquisitive robot, sending them both crashing to the ground and me stumbling to regain my lost balance.

I take the precious seconds of confusion to position myself behind the crowd of concerned, surrounding robots who have all flocked around the Sergeant, some offering their hand to help him up, others calling out for required assistance. I begin sprint in the opposite direction away from Vaughn as fast as possible until I can barely hear the repeated lines of "Are you okay? Should I call for emergency assistance?" in the background.

'_Am I seriously trying to run from S.A.B.R.E. Force? I have a tracking orb in me for god's sake!' _I think, shaking my head in disbelief but never slowing my pace. I can't stop running, I don't know why the need to get away from these men is so strong but it's filling me with the adrenaline I need to keep going.

Slowing down briefly I claw at the point on my arm where Vaughn placed the orb, drawing pinpoints of blood out in an effort to remove it. What I need is a knife, or shard of glass or even a sharp rock, assuming the orb didn't disintegrate into my bloodstream so I can physically take it out, otherwise I'm done for.

'_They're going to kill me, Quaid is going to kill me. Oh god, Quaid is going to get permission to destroy me.' _I stop to catch my breath for a second, bending over to rest my hands on my knees, before picking up my pace again. '_If I go back now maybe there won't be any punishment. I can always say I was following Trace's orders to spread out and find Tommy.'_

"Edge?" I call out, hoping he will have any useful words of wisdom. He won't be able to see where I'm going or what I'm doing without surveillance drones and cameras but if I describe what area I'm in he might be able to find a map and point me in a safe direction. I wait ten seconds before calling out his name again. There's no answer. My anger begins to pick up; of all the times to desert me or go to sleep he decides to do it now?

I try to put it out of my mind when I see the metal railing signalling the end of my path in front of me. I race over to it, leaning against it to look over. A three metre drop onto wet concrete lies on the other side. Without wasting a second more to think I hook one leg over the rail and then the other, bend my knees slightly and push off. With a loud smack I hit the ground below, scraping the palms of my hands and twisting one of my ankles into an unnatural position. I grit my teeth and gingerly get to my feet, testing the limits of how badly I've messed it up. It doesn't seem too bad, sore and tender but I can feel nothing's broken or fractured.

I shake my hands about loosely, trying to remove some of the stinging sensation in my palms and twirl my sore ankle around in movements that ease the pressure while looking around at what lies at this level of the floating markets. Parts of broken drones float along in the shallow water, along with old food and rubbish. There are a few ladders scattered around, the majority of which are so rusted that some of the bars have rotted off, and I spot a large entrance to a tunnel in the near distance.

I head towards the tunnel's entry figuring I can take shelter in there while planning what to do next; I feel much too exposed to the S.A.B.R.E. Force's watchful eyes out on this wet path. It takes less than a minute to reach the tunnel, my ankle throbbing a little from the speed I pushed myself to run. There's a large hole in the grate that covers the tunnel's entrance and I squeeze my body through it without any difficulty.

The passageway is mostly dark, some streams of light from hanging light bulbs and broken robots illuminate narrow corners, creating an eerie atmosphere. The pathway is covered in a shallow pool of green-brown water that laps up my ankles. It's a dirty, dank place but the enclosed space also provides a certain level of comfort and protection that I can't explain. I head further down the passage, running my palms over the slimy walls and using the soft moss to deliver extra relief for my stinging hands.

A flickering light guides me around the first corner of the tunnel but the instance I step around onto the new path a strong force slams into my face, knocking me off my feet and onto the ground. I hold my head, disoriented, trying to get back onto my feet while staying calm, but I was so damn sick of trying to stay calm and in control. I was so tired of not being able to defend myself against attacks.

"Nilin? That you? Shit. I'm sorry girl, it was dark and the Leapers are just all-" I throw myself into the man that punched me, catching him off guard and knocking him into a nearby wall. His face is one of complete surprise, one eye wide, the other remaining semi-open, milky white and unseeing. Several scars run over the left side of his face and I pull my fist back before ramming it into the damaged side, hoping to ruin it just a little more.

The bones under his dark skin crunch on impact, the sound fuelling my rage. He softly grunts in pain, trying to hide his hurt before my fist pulls back almost by itself and rams back into his face again and then once into his stomach. He winces with every hit, moaning a little but doesn't strike me back. Tears begin to fill the corners of his eyes as he blocks one of my incoming hits to his face and pushes off the wall behind him, weaving underneath my arm gracefully, as though we've begun a dangerous dance of sorts.

I lash out more violently, now fully aware that I'm being spurred on by the effects of Quaid's serum, not even aiming anywhere specifically, just trying to land a solid hit on the man.

"This isn't you, Nilin. I don't know what they've done to you but it's me, it's Tommy, you don't want to do this," the man, _Tommy, _pleads with his hands up with surrender. Static fills my eardrums and I use it to drown out Tommy's words. It slightly eases the guilt I feel inside me for I know this man was once an acquaintance, maybe even a friend.

I finally catch him with an elbow to the ribs and use his unbalanced state to swiftly land an uppercut underneath his chin. He reels backwards with the motion, unable to find his footing in the shallow waters and collapses backwards with a loud splash. I stalk towards his prone form and he tries to shuffle away from me, using his hands to drag himself along the dirty tunnel. His mouth is moving, silently forming words I cannot hear and I bang the sides of my head with clenched fists trying to clear my ears out to hear him. It doesn't work and Tommy moves back faster, shaking his head, tears finally falling down his face at my half-crazed movements. The static builds into a frenzy of buzzing that drills right into my mind. I cry out from the intense pain that rolls through me, a few of my own tears beginning to fall down my cheeks.

"Nilin! You've got to focus now. Don't let the anger overpower you," Edge says to me, his voice echoing around me through the static. I bang my temples harder resolved to get him, and everything else, out of my mind permanently.

"Where were you!" I cry out, leaning my forehead against the nearby wall, my back turned to Tommy. A quick glance back to him through my tears shows that he hasn't made a move towards me, so I turn back to the wall, softly banging my head against it. "Where are you? It hurts so much."

"Nil," Edge chokes back a sob before steeling himself. "There was a change of plans. I couldn't talk to you then and I won't be able to speak to you like this for a while. I won't have the equipment to. Please, trust me. Tommy isn't," he cuts himself off abruptly. "Quaid will pay for it. I have to go." And with that the line goes dead. I wait several seconds, my hands still clutching at my hair, to see if he'll come back, but he doesn't. He left me again and I have no idea what to do or where to go from here. Maybe Vaughn was right, maybe these people only look after themselves, at least when things get too tough for them.

I feel drained. All the anger, all the hatred I felt just leaves my body and I have no more energy.

The sounds of splashing from behind me makes me turn my body around. Tommy had gotten to his feet and was approaching me the way a person might a wounded animal, cautious and slowly with his hands splayed out by his sides. I swivel my body around so my back was supporting me against the wall but my knees begin to give way and I sluggishly slide down the moss covered wall to a sitting position in the muddy water.

Tommy kneels down in front of me and tries to take hold of my hands that were still tangled in my hair. I release one of them from against my temple and lash out at him lethargically. Swatting at the air in front of his face. He tries again and I lash out once more. I can't trust him – I don't know him, I'll find a way out of this by myself as soon as some of my energy comes back.

"Just go, leave me alone," I whisper as he grabs my hands softly. I kick my good leg out in response and catch him in the knee making him release me. "Leave me alone!"

He stands back up to his full height and looks around the tunnel, deciding whether to leave me alone or take me with him. He seems to choose the former as he takes a few steps away from me, giving me the space I wanted.

"Down that way is the Saint-Michel district. Bad Request is usually hanging around there during the day, if you decide you don't want to take things on alone," he tells me, pointing down the darkened tunnel. I nod in exhaustion and Headache Tommy begins to sprint down in the direction he pointed, the sounds of his splashing footsteps echoing around me.

I stay in the same position for a few minutes, one temple leaning against the slimy wall and my hands in my hair, rocking ever so slightly back and forth. It occurs to me that I should start heading in the same direction as Tommy because the Enforcers will probably be checking these passageways soon but I didn't have the energy yet. The water I was sitting in didn't seem so dirty after all and I close my eyes briefly letting the rocking movements calm me.

Odd sounds from the tunnel reverberate around me, soft shrieks and animal-like grunts. I'm about to open my eyes to find the source when a warm breath exhales in my face. The smell of it was rotting flesh and decay that made my stomach contract in revulsion and my eyes fly open in surprise.

A creature was kneeling in front of me, replacing the same spot Tommy was not too long ago. It wasn't human, though it had the features of one. Its grey skin was peeling off in uneven patches, there was no hair on its skull and its face was almost completely deformed – it was more monster than man. A yell catches in my throat as the creature hooks its long arms around its legs and leans forward, staring at me unwavering. I release my fingers from my head and let my arms hang down to the side, resting in the water. The thing in front of me reaches a hand, with unnaturally long spiny fingers, out to touch the point at my temples that I had been banging earlier.

"Pain. Pain," it chants with a distorted voice. I don't move out of fear of this thing, I've never seen anything like it before and I know it's not a natural being of this world. It can't be.

"Sister," it continues, running its spidery fingers over my filthy orange jumpsuit examining it. Both of its hands alternate between touching my face, my hair and my prison outfit. It doesn't seem like it wants to harm me and from the way it's picking at the moss on my forehead and dirt on my clothes it's almost as if the thing is trying to clean me. "One of us?"

It leans back away from me, back onto its heels and just stares again, while I stare right back. For a couple of seconds there's no movement from either of us, was it expecting an answer? As soon as I open my mouth to say something, though I wasn't sure what, the creature jumps up with jerking motions screeching in a primal way. I clasp my hands to my ears in an effort to drown out the sound its making but the thing comes closer, hovering over my body in a defensive manner, its screaming head inches above my own.

A loud explosive burst erupts from close behind me, sending the odd creature flying backwards. It lands motionless in a heap, steam rising from a hole in its chest. I gasp in shock when a strong, forceful hand grabs me by the back of my jumpsuit, near my neck and pulls me off the ground, kicking and squirming. The hand shakes me about roughly like a ragdoll before letting go. I drop gracefully onto my feet and the person behind me grabs my upper arm, spinning me around to collide into their broad chest.

Vaughn looks down at me, his face so red with anger it looks like he might've burst a blood vessel. His grip is painfully tight on my arm and I know there will be bruises there within the hour. He pushes me up against the tunnel way, his other fist slamming down next to my head, causing loose rubble to fall around us.

"I fucking told you to stay at my side for the whole mission!" He removes the glove from his hand and punches me hard in the stomach. I keel over from the force but he pushes up on my shoulder, straightening me back upright. "What part of that did you _not_ fucking understand!" Another punch to the stomach and I'm coughing up blood.

He grabs my other arm as well and slams my back several times into the tunnel wall behind us.

"Did you want to get killed by the Leapers, you stupid girl? Do you realise I just saved your worthless life?" he yells at me between body slams. I can't fight him back or my Sensen will short-circuit, and being alone and unconscious in a tunnel with this maniac might be worse than death.

He punches me in the stomach once more and I fall onto my knees in pain. A pair of handcuffs materialises in front of me and Vaughn encases them around my wrists, locking them together. With a grunt of exertion he lifts me up into his arms, high above the ground and begins to tread back in the same direction I came in from. Maybe he didn't even know Tommy was down here.

'_Where were you, Edge?' _I think coughing up a little more blood. Vaughn sneers down at me at the sound as we reach the tunnel entrance. The hole in the grating is much bigger than it was previously and Vaughn carries me through it with no problems._ 'He must have blown it open.'_

As we reach a nearby ladder Vaughn shifts me out of his arms and tosses me over his back into a humiliating position of conquest. His shoulder digs into my sore stomach, crushing my insides even further as he starts to climb up the rusting steps, careful not to drop me head first onto the concrete below. When we reach the top he continues to walk along through what seems to be the floating markets, not bothering to shift me back into his arms. I spit blood at the back of his feet, amused when it sticks and he doesn't notice.

Twisting my head around after a minute I see we're nearing the Leaking Brain again, its neon sign blinking overhead. I can hear the rambunctious laughter of the Enforcers when Vaughn snatches at the back of my garment, tugging me off his shoulder and onto the wooden floor. Trace and the others are standing in a semi-circle around me, most of who are laughing loudly at my expense.

I'm seething with embarrassment as I try to push up off the floor in my handcuffs. A fellow soldier rushes forward and gently holds me under the armpits, helping me to my feet with care. I take hold of his forearm to steady myself, his uniform sinking down under my grip much more than I expected for a fitted uniform.

"What's the meaning of this Sergeant?" Captain Trace inquires with a frown. His arms are folded against each other and his posture is intimidating.

"She was running away, Commander. This is a necessary precaution."

Trace turns to me and I tighten my grip on the soldier holding me. "Is that true, prisoner?"

I shake my head hastily, trying to look every bit as innocent as I wasn't. "No, Sir. You ordered us to spread out so I took a nearby tunnel to search for our target. I was never far away and was even sitting down when the Sergeant found me," I reply in a fake obedient tone, motioning to the wet patches up my legs from sitting in the dirty tunnel water. Thankfully he doesn't think to ask about whether or not I _did _find the target in the tunnels or _why _I was sitting down on the job.

The captain glares at Vaughn before ordering him to release my handcuffs. The soldier holding me lets me go and slinks back into the crowd while Vaughn swipes his hand over my restraints. They distort around my wrists for a second before disappearing with a zap. I rub at the red marks they left me while Trace motions for everyone to follow him.

"We did not apprehend our target, but we did seize data regarding the current Errorist movement which should prove to be just as valuable," he says as we walk past the empty market stalls back to the aircraft. Even though I fought him like an insane woman I'm glad they weren't able to capture Headache Tommy, he didn't seem like a person that deserved to be in the Hellish prison I was.

As the airship comes into view everyone begins to start talking about what kind of secrets lay in the data they collected and how they'll be heroes when all the Errorists are brought down.

Only a few feet away now the aircraft opens its doors and the soldiers begin to pile in, taking the seats they were in originally. I slowly get on board as well and buckle myself into the same seat as earlier. When all the chairs are full the aircraft begins to take off and I grip my armrests to try and take the pressure off my plunging stomach. I turn to the man next to me, who's facing away towards the window, for a distraction and study his ill-fitting armour. B-178 the engraving on the breastplate reads, though the numbers are now stained with blood.

The aircraft jolts with turbulence and I feel my stomach contract, sending me into violent coughing fits that result in the lower half of my face getting covered with my blood. B-178 turns to face me with alarm and I laugh with a sudden thought.

"Now we match," I laugh, pointing to my chin that was dripping with blood and remembering the man's full red beard. The man beside me frowns, or at least I think he does. He's still wearing his full Enforcer helmet so only his mouth and jaw were showing. His lips were pulled down into a grimace and his smooth, chiselled jaw was locked in place. I begin to turn my head away from him but he softly takes my chin in his hand and wipes away the blood that was dripping down.

I gasp with the sensation and turn away from him completely, avoiding his stare until I hear Trace inform everyone that we were landing soon. I unbuckle myself straight away before the machine even reaches the ground as I want to be the first one off this suffocating craft.

When the bottom of the flying vehicle reaches the ground the doors open up instantly and I take off out of them into the fresh air. There are a few shouts of dismay from behind me but I don't try to run away. It's not like I have anywhere to go now. I just stand a few feet away, breathing in the clean air and taking in the sunlight.

Vaughn comes to stand next to me, his unshielded face full with annoyance. "I'm taking you to see Doctor Quaid. I think you need a little more treatment."

"Actually Sergeant, I need to speak with you," Captain Trace calls to Vaughn from behind us. I look back at him and notice the majority of the soldiers are already making their way back into La Bastille, removing their helmets and congratulating each other on the mission. '_A mission they failed, those morons.' _

Vaughn looks down at me with irritation and then back at Trace. He motions to the last soldier stepping out of the aircraft to come forward – it was the man seated next to me.

"See to it that she reaches Doctor Quaid. Inform him that she has failed the mission and to continue her treatment," Vaughn tells the soldier who nods briefly in affirmation. We follow the sergeant and captain into La Bastille for a minute before going off on a different route towards Quaid's office of horrors.

The soldier guides me down several flights of stairs and through a courtyard before reaching the room I awoke in this morning. He wasn't taking me to Doctor Quaid after all; the thought relieves me so much I almost cry in happiness. The man uses my hand to unlock the see-through door and with an extremely gentle nudge ushers me into the white cell. I turn to face him, to question why I was here and not with Quaid when I notice the tears streaming from under his helmet down across his smooth lips and masculine jaw.

He locks the door, sealing me inside before placing his palm up against it. It's one of those gestures that I suppose could be comforting, if the other person placed their palm up in the same spot on the opposite side, but all I can do is stare at his hand in confusion before he removes it from the glass. Why isn't he moving, what does he want from me?

"I don't understand," I settle with, unsure about what else to say.

"I promised I'd be with you for every step," he answers, a few tears dripping off his chin onto the floor below. I gasp, covering my mouth with one hand and my ear with the other. I knew that voice.

Edge was here.

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	4. Chapter 4

**T for language**

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"Edge?" I whisper so softly it sounds like a breeze.

It was him. He really did come for me. I can feel relief course through me so suddenly that I begin to feel light-headed and I lean against the clear door to steady myself. Relief that I wasn't truly alone here, that I wasn't alone in having to deal with the likes of Quaid and Vaughn. I haven't even known Edge for a day and it's crazy but I feel that I could trust him. Well, trust him more than any of the others here.

Edge puts a finger against his lips in a motion for silence. He looks around in both directions, bringing his finger down from his lips to wipe away some stray tears lingering on his chin before he turns his attention to the panel on the wall next to my cell door. Within seconds my see-through door opens and Edge slips through quickly before a metal casing covers it completely, leaving him and me alone in the small room.

He doesn't move at first. He just stands there, scanning me over with his eyes hidden behind his helmet and lips turned down into a frown.

"Can you remove it?" I ask him, pointing at my head where my own helmet would be if I was wearing one. "I don't think they can see anyone in here."

"No, they can't. I remember trying to find a visual connection to the cell earlier," he replies in a crisp tone. It was different to hearing him through my Sensen, listening to him in real life was so much better.

"You were trying to see me get changed, you mean," I tease. It seems unlike me to be teasing at a time like this, but it also feels so natural and comfortable with Edge so close. Resisting the urge to blush at my childish behaviour I turn my head to stare at the wall next to me, instead.

I hear him, rather than see him, remove the covering off his face but I don't turn to him yet. I'm still half expecting to hear him laugh at my expense so when I feel his hands gently cup the sides of my head, turning it with great care to face him, I can't help but let out a gasp.

"I would never disrespect you like that," he whispers to me firmly, his rich brown eyes boring down into mine.

He was undeniably handsome. An almost flawless complexion – several shades lighter than mine, I note – save for a small scar that ran across the bridge of his nose and a few laughter lines at the corners of his eyes. His eyebrows were dark, thick and masculine, with barely any arch.

"Thank you," I whisper back. He lets go of my head as his eyes widen slightly.

"You don't need to thank me, privacy is a human right."

There's a moment of silence, I can't think of anything to say back to that because I instinctively know it's true. There are a lot of things I would have thought I would have basic rights to, my own memories are the first that come to mind. How did they expect me to remain compliant in prison if I couldn't even remember my crimes.

"How are you feeling?" Edge cautiously asks, filling in the silence.

"Tired." It must have only been a few hours at most since Doctor Quaid woke me up, but with everything that's happened I just feel exhausted. Edge looks relieved at the news.

"Not angry then," he says with a deep sigh. I shake my head, knowing why he was asking.

"No, not angry. I think Quaid's formula left my system sometime during my fight with Tommy. He's fine," I add quickly, watching Edge's mouth open and close within the same second. "They didn't get him."

Edge nods sharply, his lips curling back down into a frown as he takes a hold of my forearms tenderly to inspect them. "I know. He's too smart for that; took off the moment I was able to pass the information about his capture along. I just wish he wasn't so rough with you."

I follow his line of sight to a series of bruises marking my arms in the shape of a large hand. They must have emerged more quickly than I thought they would after Vaughn grabbed me in the tunnels.

"These aren't from Tommy," I tell him with a shrug of my shoulders, "Vaughn found me trying to escape through a tunnel and he wasn't too happy about it."

Edge lets go of my arms slowly and turns to face the wall behind him. I can see his fingers twitching under his glove, which was already bloodied around the knuckles, and his shoulders stiffen. Reeling his fist back he punches the wall forcefully but the white padding covering them silences the impact. I step back from him quickly in surprise.

"Was it Quaid or Vaughn I said I would dispose of first?" he asks me softly, his head hanging low.

'_Dispose of. Kill,' _I think bitterly. I wasn't innocent enough to think this man, who I barely knew, wouldn't stoop to murder. He had said we were wanted criminals for the suicide of a former police captain, but it was much more likely we murdered him. I feel my stomach begin to churn at the thought and as Edge turns back around I see the light reflect off the blood that was spattered on his chest plate. It was definitely not his blood.

"But you know need to know I couldn't have reached you," Edge continues, not waiting for an answer from me, "Not with the tracker in you. It lasts only for twenty-four hours but we wouldn't have made it that long, even if you are the best fighter I've ever met. I thought I'd take my chances coming here, helping you and finding the memory confinement servers so you, along with our brothers and sisters, could think freely again."

"Who is it that's doing this to us? You haven't given me much to go on," I ask him, watching him shake his head.

"There's not enough time to get into the details. I need to get to Vaughn before he reaches Quaid and finds you're not there," he answers, though not making a move to the exit.

For a moment we just look at each other in silence before his eyes move down to my lips. I poke my tongue out to lick them instinctively out of nervous habit, highly aware that his gaze was resting on them. His own mouth parts a little and his eyes flash back up to meet mine; I can see the unrestrained wanting in them that makes my whole body shiver slightly. I'm surprised to find I actually want him to kiss me, to feel his smooth lips against my own chapped ones.

Within a second his hand reaches the side of his helmet, and his face becomes shielded once more instead. He turns to face the door and with a flick of his wrist a hologram appears over the length of his glove.

"Wait!" I call out, not wanting him to remove the sound-proof metal cover yet. There were so many questions I needed to ask him; whose blood was on his stolen uniform, what happened to the real B-178 with the red beard, what was he going to do to Vaughn, what was the creature I encountered in the tunnels.

Edge turns back to glance at me over his shoulder and all the questions in my mind jumble together incoherently. My throat feels dry and I can't get any words out. Maybe I was simply looking for a distraction so he didn't leave.

After a couple of seconds he turns completely to face me, a worried frown playing on his lips. He begins to open them but I cut him off as all my questions rush to the tip of my tongue. Without thinking I blurt out the largest one weighing on my mind.

"Are we engaged?" I'm almost as shocked with the question as he seems to be. His mouth opening and closing in confusion. "Before I left Vaughn said someone, a fugitive, was my fiancé. Is it you?"

"No," he answers shortly without hesitation. I feel my face flush with embarrassment over the question; he must think I was ridiculous for asking it. He opens his mouth to say something more but seems to decide against it, shaking his head and releasing a deep sigh.

"Technically you're not engaged at all, let alone to some other man. He didn't know what he was talking about," he adds. It doesn't make me feel any better though so when the metal slides off the door and he steps out to leave I only feel grateful.

"I'll be back as soon as I'm finished with Vaughn," Edge whispers from behind the door. I nod once before he takes off in a jog down the circular pathway and through an exit.

As soon as he leaves my line of sight I crumple onto the bed next to me, my head resting in my folded arms and my legs tucked up into my chest. My heart feels so heavy and I don't know why, it's not like I could remember him. He should be nothing to me, but the way he said I was part of his family, that it was always just him and me made me think there was something more between us. I pound the pillow angrily with a clenched fist, trying to relieve my embarrassment and heartache.

'_Stupid, stupid Nilin!'_ I think angrily, '_He's single-handedly trying to bring down a corrupt police force while helping people fight against having their memories stolen and here you are asking him about weddings and engagements.'_

Embarrassment quickly fades into anger and I sit back up stiffly. If Edge was here doing all the dirty work what was I even needed for? It doesn't really matter if I was the best fighter if I couldn't fight the people that mattered and if he was posing as another S.A.B.R.E. Force member I wouldn't have any new information he wouldn't get at the same time.

I jump back off the bed and kick out at the white, padded wall in frustration. It feels soft and springy against my bare feet and I twist around to kick at it backwards. It helps release the tension inside me so I kick out again and again, adding a few punches as well, alternating the patterns between them. The wall doesn't respond organically the same way the brutes in the training room did, but it serves its purpose.

Several minutes into my routine I can feel the sweat begin to drip off my forehead in small droplets. Landing a kick once more I push forward for momentum and spring backwards into a somersault, feeling my body twirl around with effortless precision. I've underestimated the size of the room though as my ankle slams into the bed on my way down. With a pained hiss I sit back on the floor and gingerly rub the sore appendage, mentally cursing La Bastille's small cells.

With a sigh I spread my arms open and fall backwards to lie on my back on the floor, taking a few seconds to find a comfortable position. I must have found it because it only feels like seconds after closing my eyes that I feel something prodding me in the stomach.

I grab the thing prodding me with a firm hand and pull it down to the side. Feeling the resistance against my pull I crack an eye open to find Madame staring down at me from an intimidating height, her short bobbed haircut falling around her face.

"Now, now, dear. You pull too hard and your Sensen might think you're trying to attack me," she smirks, yanking her cane up completely to hover over her shoulder.

Next to her is Doctor Quaid who is glaring at me with such loathing and contempt that I almost want to turn away from him. I don't though, I'm stronger than that balding man with a fetish for power so I fixate my gaze on him and glare back just as much while attempting to sit up.

'_Remaining obedient didn't last long.'_ I think in amusement.

"It's barely lunch time and you're already napping, you silly thing," Madame laughs, bringing her cane down to tap me on the head lightly before helping me to my feet. "Come. I'm to escort you to lunch considering your success on the mission."

"Success?" I question blankly. "We failed to apprehend the suspect."

Madame laughs once again, rubbing my shoulders forcefully as she turns to Quaid. "Oh, you hear that Sebastian? 'Failed to apprehend the suspect'. What a delight!" She turns back to face me, "We didn't truly need that half-blind Errorist, just the information he had. Sergeant Vaughn has informed me that we collected a rather expansive bit of data from his two-bit bar and that you were the perfect little soldier - lap dog, I think was the term he used – so all things considered it was rather successful, yes."

How was that even possible? I knew Vaughn was extremely angry with finding me in the tunnels and he had ordered my return back into Quaid's hands. Perhaps Edge found him and scared him into lying to protect me.

Madame releases my shoulders but takes my wrists to walk me out of the cell room with Quaid following closely behind. There's more noise than usual out here as the screams of the other inmates echo off the walls. A guard in a S.A.B.R.E. Force uniform is hovering around the cell next to mine, trying to coax the prisoner into eating what looks to be slop on a plate who responds with yells and moans. As we pass the two of them the guard seems to give up and wordlessly moves on to the next prisoner, heading in the same direction as me and Madame.

It wasn't until we passed the third prisoner cell that I notice Madame's grip on my wrist hasn't lessened, so I tug myself free and straighten myself upright, walking beside her with my head held high. She regards me for a moment from the corner of her eye.

"I do hope your loyalty doesn't lie with Vaughn only," she says without mirth, "Men do not truly understand the complexities of a woman. They are simple minded creatures. Your adoration of a male will only end up with him satisfying his own needs; however, if you give your complete adoration to a woman she rewards you equally."

Quaid snorts derisively behind us and Madame stops to glare at him. As we turn I notice the guard who had been tailing us turn abruptly to the nearest prisoner and crouch down to face them. Neither of the others notices the man's odd behaviour so we continue down the path and through the exit.

After we pass through more rooms, including the training room, we arrive at a dining hall filled with eighty or so men. Some were in uniform, most were not and they were all divided, sitting at one of the ten wooden tables cramped inside the room, helping themselves to the massive servings of delicious looking food piled on the table.

"This is the mess hall," Madame says, gesturing around the room. At the sound of her voice several of the nearest men stand up from their chairs with a salute and chants of '_Madame' _and '_Governor' _fill the air.

"At ease, gentlemen," she says, walking over to their table. I notice a few of them were from the earlier mission. "Make room for Nilin, would you? She hasn't eaten."

The men instantly shuffle around, parting ways to make room for me on the bench. I awkwardly try to slide myself into the gap without touching any of the others who are looking at me with either curiosity or contempt. As soon as I settle down Madame places an empty plate in front of me and I feel my stomach grumble in anticipation of food.

"Unfortunately we don't give prisoners cutlery, so you'll have to eat with your fingers this time. Perhaps once we get to know each other better in the future I will arrange for something a little more suitable," Madame tells me before gesturing for Quaid to follow her out of the mess hall.

I'm not even sure why Quaid had to be there at all, he was probably hoping Madame would change her mind about my treatment so he could continue to experiment on me. I was grateful for Madame's presence; at least she seems like a reasonable woman who doesn't want to see me become another screaming inmate and considering her high ranking here it's probably in my best interest to keep her happy.

"Chicken?" a man sitting opposite me asks, holding out a cooked drumstick towards me, wiggling it in the air. I take it from him with a slight smile and place it on my plate, keeping my eyes down to avoid the stares of the other seven men.

He reaches into the dish of cooked meats and takes out what looks to be chicken wings before putting them against his shoulders and miming them flying before offering them to me. It seemed a little cruel; from what I remember animals were genetically engineered in labs for the purpose of food, so they never experienced the freedom of flying. Nevertheless I take the wings from him silently and place them on my plate, not sure whether to start eating them.

I watch as the same man takes a banana and splits it down the middle, shoving both pieces into the corners of his mouth and makes odd sounds while clapping his hands together. The other men don't look very amused but I find it a little funny, that is until he takes them out of his mouth and tries to hand it to me to eat.

"That was in your mouth!" I cry out in disgust. The man begins to laugh deeply that seems infectious as the other men begin to cackle as well.

"So you do speak," he says with a sly smirk as the laughter dies down. One of the men sitting next to him smacks him behind the head.

"Don't get cozy with the prisoner, Nox."

"I'm not a prisoner. I'm a member of the S.A.B.R.E. Force, just like you," I state, finding my confidence while picking up the drumstick on my plate. It's rough and dry when I bite into it but it soothes my empty stomach and I instantly feel less tired.

Nox shakes his head, pointing to his chest. "Not what your prisoner outfit says. Also not what your lack of cutlery says. That and I saw you weren't allowed a shield or glove on the mission, oh, and Vaughn would never carry one of us around like that on his shoulders," he says in a playful tone that I didn't think was playful at all.

"They didn't even let you shower," one of the others pips in, "and we're as clean as a cleaning drone. Your smell is almost putting me off my lunch."

They nod their heads in agreement and I look down at my orange prison jumpsuit that's still covered in little bits of moss, stained all the way up my legs from sitting in the dirty tunnel water and ripping in spots. There were blood stains from my earlier coughing down the torso section and I bristle at the judgment from these men. Several of who I recognise from the beating I gave them in the training room.

"At least I'm not clothed in some stupid, impractical dress," I retort, pointing to one of the men at the end of the table who was wearing a dress cloak and bowtie. Nox and a few others stifle their laughter as I start packing my plate full with more food, beginning to devour it with my fingers without care.

"Excuse me," the guy in the cloak says, obviously offended, "this is an authentic Diktat outfit, right down to the laces."

"Gross, August," someone next to me says with fake disgust, "we didn't want to know about your lace underwear." The whole table, save for August and I, erupts into laughter and I unexpectedly feel a lot more comfortable with these men I've only known for a minute.

Suddenly I feel the hair rise up on the back on my neck and reach a hand around to rub at the spot while looking around the hall. The tables of men all look the same, the sounds of laughter and chewing coming from their directions.

"So, what's it like getting your memory deleted?" I hear one of them, Nox I think, ask me. I'm about to open my mouth to answer '_excruciating' _when I see Edge sitting at the next table closest to my own, staring at me from behind his shielded helmet. His mouth is pulled in a straight line and he's ignoring the jibes and elbows from the Enforcers around him. He sees that I've spotted him but doesn't make a move to turn away.

"Um," I say absentmindedly to Nox, not looking away from Edge's position.

"You can't ask her that, you imbecile!"

"Why not?"

"Because it's personal."

I hear Nox sigh and I look back to see him rubbing the bridge of his stubby nose. "Okay, how about if I ask you a question you can ask me one," he says, nodding his head at me like I've already asked him a question.

'_I suppose there are a few things I could ask,'_ I think as I nod my head in agreement to him.

"I'll start," he says firmly, "what was it like getting your memory deleted?"

It really was an idiotic question considering he works in La Bastille. He should know all about the pain we go through when they wipe our minds clean, we don't scream out of pleasure after all. It was the worst pain I've experienced and it happened less than twenty-four hours ago.

"I don't know," I reply, biting back a smirk, "I can't remember." I expect to hear the others laugh, they seem to do it with just about everything else so I nervously rub at the back of my neck at their silence. They're all semi-frowning at me and August was simply rolling his food around on his plate.

"It was the worst thing I've ever experienced," I start again solemnly, trying to ease the tension, "I literally thought I was dying the pain was so intense. I could feel my memories pass through my mind and then they were taken from me. Besides the obvious pain, getting your memory deleted is like trying to think of a new colour. You try and you try to picture this wonderful new colour but it only gives you a headache knowing you can't, and it's always there in the back of your mind, trying to fill in these missing parts with something you just don't have and you think 'why did they do this to me'? Why did they take my memories of a crime away and leave me in a prison when for all I know I'm completely innocent. Why did they take away everything that made me _me, _everything human about me and try to strip me of my name, calling me 'Subject' instead, tagging me like an animal!"

They're staring at me in shock and even some of the other tables near-by have quietened down to listen in to the crazy prisoner shout nonsense. I grit my teeth together and clench my jaw refusing to look at them, instead looking out to the next table to catch Edge's shielded eye. He hasn't moved at all and the men around him seem to have given up on making him remove his helmet or in join their conversation.

"Anyway, that's what it's like getting your memory deleted," I finish in a whisper, once again breaking eye contact with Edge as the noise around us picks back up. "It's my turn. Why are there no women Enforcers?"

Nox is the first to shake himself out of his shocked appearance and gestures to the far back exit of the hall.

"There are, they're all the way over there. They don't usually deal in the armed combat like us, they take care of political struggles or do body-guard work," he says, puffing his chest out a little. "We take care of the bad guys, and they take care of the good guys."

"Bad guys like me, you mean."

"Well, yeah," he replies, scratching at the back of his head. "Sorry, but you were an Errorist. You wouldn't remember but your group hijacked peoples minds, destroyed parts of Mnemopolis and left a lot of our men with such severe memory damage it took months to recover."

"So we've never killed anyone?" I ask seriously. It was a perfect opportunity to find out the extent of my – and Edge's – crimes.

"You killed Captain Forlan allegedly."

"Allegedly," I mimic without amusement. "I've had my mind erased because of an alleged crime I can't remember. How very convenient. From my perspective you're not very good 'good guys'."

The men are glaring at me angrily now, no traces of laughter left. One of them holds his hands up in surrender, shaking his head. "Truce. Let's leave it, she's one of us now."

The hall begins to pick up noise as everyone stands almost in unison and begins piling their empty plates together. The men around me begin to do the same and out of the corner of my eye I see Edge has already cleared his plate and was moving towards me.

"Wait," I say to the others, "There's one thing I want to know. Do any of you know anything about a weird creature that looks kind of human but has grey, patchy skin, is bald and has unnaturally long fingers?" I ask, moving my fingers in the same way the creature in the tunnels did. All of them nod and a brief flash of fear passes through August's eyes.

"Yeah, they're called Leapers. Nasty things that attack everything in their path," he says with a shiver. "Quaid's working on a way to make them work for us. Kind of like what he did with you."

Edge comes to stand next to me and folds his arms. He was taller than any of the other men by at least an inch and with his full Enforcer uniform on he looks extremely intimidating. Nox tries to laugh off the unease I see in him and swats Edge on the shoulder.

"Hey, man, you don't need to wear the suit like that all the time, you know?"

Instead of responding Edge lightly puts his hand on one of my shoulders and steers me in the direction I entered with Madame. I glance behind me to see the others from my table shrug and follow the rest of the crowd in the opposite direction out the main double-door exit, chattering with each other about something I couldn't hear.

It's only when I see the familiar corridor where my cell is located that I pull away from Edge and refuse to keep walking with him.

"I don't want to go back there," I tell him firmly, crossing my arms and widening my stance.

"I don't want you to go back there either," he whispers gently, "but it's the only place I can be fairly sure you'll be safe." He doesn't reach for me but he gestures for me to continue on my own. I don't budge out of stubborn pride though, I didn't want to go back into that cell and listen to the screams of these other prisoners.

Edge stands a few feet away and waits for me to continue forward on my own. "Nilin, please. Don't fight me on this," he begs quietly, trying to avoid being heard by any close surveillance drones.

I don't move forward, I want to help him with whatever it is he's doing in here and I know I can't do that if I'm stuck in a padded room slowly going mad from isolation. Digging my bare heels into the hard ground I feel like I'm a solid, immovable object.

"No."

I see him grind his teeth together as he contemplates what to do next. Within seconds he's closed the gap between us and has taken hold of my arm, dragging me towards my cell with enough force to move my body but lightly enough that it didn't hurt. Which was surprising considering his grip was directly over the bruises left by Vaughn. I feel myself slowly lose trust in Edge with every step and when he guides me into my cell, closing it behind us with the sound-proof metal encasing, I start to feel numb.

He lets go of me quickly, as though my skin burns him and releases the shielding of his helmet. He wasn't crying but his face was full of pain and agony.

"What the Hell's the matter with you!" I scream at him, bringing my palm up to slap at his chest plate. My hand pulls away slightly red with blood he never bothered to clean off.

"I can't lose you!" he yells right back to me as he starts to pace my cell. "I went to remix Vaughn's memories – it's a skill you taught me years ago, a skill that changes what a person thinks they remember – and I saw everything that happened to you in the tunnel of Slum 404. Not anything to do with Tommy but what happened with the Leaper."

I watch him pace around as I try to remember what August had said about Leapers. "The human creature that attacks everything it can," I paraphrase.

It truly was a horrible thing and I remember its putrid, warm breath on my face and the way it clawed at my hair and clothing. It spoke in single word sentences and leapt on top of me, screeching in an unnatural way, like a demon. I shiver slightly at the thought of it.

"Usually, yes," Edge begins in an off-voice, "I saw it try to defend you against Vaughn; it thought you were one of them, Nilin. It thought of you as a Leaper because of Quaid's fucking experiments! You're not okay, you're not okay at all and I'm going to get you out. I'm going to release your memories and get you the fuck out of here. In the meantime you need to stay put _here_."

"Why can't I help you! You said it yourself, I'm the best fighter there is and you can't take on an entire prison by yourself!"

"Yes, I can!" he yells and I can see his face turning red, the veins on his neck visibly throbbing. "I let you down once before. I'm the reason you got into this mess, I can fix it." He stops pacing and holds his head in his hands, "I can fix it."

"Edge," I whisper, reaching up to lay a hand on his shoulder, "You don't have to do this alone. Let me help. Please."

"If I'm caught and you're with me it's going to be even worse," he replies, placing his own hand over mine on his shoulder.

"It's why you need me. You're walking around the main halls in a full Enforcer uniform trying to remain inconspicuous while glaring at everyone and sticking out like a sore thumb. You _need _me. I'm expected to be here and if I get into Madame's good graces she might let me roam the prison by myself."

Edge wretches himself away from me and grits his teeth. "No, Nilin. You can't trust her or anyone working here. I heard what she was saying to you, she wants your mind and will completely bent to her. She's a crazy, power-hungry bitch and I don't want her anywhere near you again if we can help it."

"I feel useless, Edge," I whisper as I make my way to sit on the bed. It was the truth, I feel so useless that it makes my heart hurt. "I want to help."

He makes his way over to sit down beside me and pulls me into his chest, engulfing me in a long-overdue hug. His arms come around my torso and I tilt my head to fit perfectly under his chin. The smell of vanilla and musk fill my nose and I find myself sighing against him. It feels natural to be in his arms like this, it feels like it's something I've done a hundred times before. However, it's the tainted smell of blood that makes me come back to my senses and lean away from him.

"You do help, Nil. You've already helped Tommy escape capture and it's been less than a day," he says, sighing with the lack of contact between us. "I can't keep up this charade on actual missions; I'll be discovered in seconds. I was lucky to even make it into the prison without being noticed. When a person does get in though they're more lenient and much less formal with procedures. No-one wants to break _into _a prison after all."

I'm instantly reminded of how he made it here to the prison in the first place and I swallow heavily. "Edge, what happened to the real B-178?"

"What?" he asks, staring at me with a confused look on his face. I point at the blood still lingering on his uniform and the stains on my own palm.

"The man you took those clothes from. What happened to him?"

Edge gapes at me, his eyes widening slightly as he shakes his head. "Nilin, he was an Enforcer—"

"As am I!" I yell angrily, leaping off the bed.

I didn't know the man with the blood-red beard but he had smiled at me and he was the first person, except for Edge, to talk to me like I was a human instead of a subject. The Enforcers were humans just like I am and each side of this war was destroying the other as though we weren't the same. Nox had called us the 'bad guys' and I'm starting to believe it wasn't as black and white as Edge makes it seem.

"No, you're not. You're an Errorist, not an Enforcer!" he yells back at me passionately, hopping off the bed as well. He either has a lot of passion about these ideals, or a lot of anger.

'_Not that I can talk about anger problems,' _I think bitterly.

"What did you do to him, Edge?" I ask again, my voice rising with each word, "What did you do to him, Edge!"

"He's alive, okay! He's alive! I didn't kill him but he tried to kill me. What was I supposed to do? Let him kill me, or arrest me? He would've killed me; I have a bounty of half a million on my head, Nilin. These men aren't like us, they're the murderers."

"How can I trust your word over theirs, Edge. I don't even know you. I don't know anything about you, not your last name, or your favourite colour or what you like to do when you're not protesting this place's prisoner methods. I don't know you."

"It's not La Bastille that's the problem. Everyone's memories are being monopolized by a corporation known as Memorize and people are dying from an overdose of them. This place is a blip on the radar in the big scheme of things," he whispers, his voice soft once more as he takes my hands into his. "And you do know me. Somewhere inside you there's a part that hasn't forgotten me and when I get your memories back you'll understand why I've acted this way."

I forcefully pull my hands back from his. "I don't think I can ever understand why you'd permanently damage another human being's mind, Edge. I don't think I'll understand why you're forcing me to stay here when there are people out there, in the real world, sick and dying from an overdose of memories and people just like us losing their minds meters away from me locked up in another cell! You don't care about them do you, just as you don't care that the Enforcers are humans who deserve the same rights—"

His mouth comes down hard over mine, silencing my protest into muffled sounds which quickly turn into moans. One of his hands come around the back of my head and he pulls me nearer to him, my body lifting up instinctively onto my toes so I can press myself closer. I release another moan and part my lips, allowing his tongue entry into my mouth and I feel my knees begin to buckle under the sensation.

My legs do give way slightly but Edge keeps me standing with a strong arm around my torso. I bring my own hand up to run my fingers through his hair but they're met with the cold metal of his Enforcer helmet. It's enough to jolt me back to my senses and, without thinking, my hand flies forward delivering a heavy slap to the stunned man.

He holds the cheek I slapped, the flesh already burning a bright pink as he looks to me sorrowfully. "I'm sorry," he whispers tenderly, "You were always so beautiful when you're defending those with no voice. I let my feelings get in the way, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to take advantage of you."

I breathe heavily, trying to stop the room from spinning too much. The kiss I just shared with Edge was amazing; it brought feelings and emotions to the surface that might have accompanied a nice series of memories if I had them. It brought forward a familiar sense of intimacy too that leaves me puzzled trying to make sense of it. My mind works frantically trying to find him, find Edge, in the lost holes of my brain.

"Nilin, I'm sorry," Edge mournfully whispers again, mistaking my silence for hatred. "I shouldn't have done that without your memories back, please say something."

"Just go," I whisper back to him. I'm not mad, I'm confused and if he was going to leave without me he might as well do it now before my heart implodes.

I see his eyes begin to water but the tears don't fall. Instead he nods slowly and straightens his back as he makes his way to the door, still encased in its metal bindings, before pausing to turn back to me.

"My favourite colour is blue," he begins sadly, "whichever colour blue the sky is at any time. I never had a last name either, I was a boy stuck in the system, no real identity or purpose. Nobody wanted to adopt a child like me, so I left the orphanage at the age of sixteen without a legal last name. It wasn't until I met you that I felt my life had true meaning."

He closes in his helmet before opening the metal frame of the door. After checking both directions for surveillance drones or guards he steps through, letting the clear door shut automatically behind him. He turns back once more to face me and I'm staring at him in awe.

"My last name legally changed to Cartier-Wells around six months ago," he finishes, exhaling deeply to get his breathing back under control.

"Thank you for telling me. It's a beautiful name," I say, genuinely grateful he shared that little bit of himself with me. Edge nods sharply in response.

"I think I know where the access codes are kept," he whispers and I lean in to hear him better. "I should be able to find the memory servers if I find that room. Most facilities normally keep electronic map data there. I'm going to get you back, Nilin. Your memories, that is."

"I know," I say softly as he begins to make his way back down the corridor, past the loony prisoners. I lean my head against the door once again feeling useless but jump back as the door panels move loosely under my forehead.

Pressing a palm against one panel I push slightly and again it moves, unlocked in place. I slide it across and bite my lip to stop a cry of joy coming out. They were unlocked! I didn't even know that was possible, I assumed they locked automatically considering this was a secure prison.

I quickly exit my cell, closing the doors firmly behind me before silently taking off in the direction Edge went.

'_Remaining obedient _definitely _didn't last long.'_

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	5. Chapter 5

**Warning!****: Chapter includes swearing, graphic violence and sexual assault. May be a trigger for some.**

**Rating might be bumped up to an M, I've not decided yet.**

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I can't see Edge when I leave my cell, which would mean he's taken the nearest exit point he could find. The sounds from the screaming prisoners in the chambers around me force me to cover my ears in an effort to drown them out as I make my way down the narrow corridors.

'_Gods, why won't they just shut up!'_

I smash my fist into the clear cell door to my right, effectively silencing the wailing, female inmate inside. She seems so startled by my actions, so scared, that after two seconds of staring at me with large, fearful eyes she promptly bends over and vomits up green bile. Her scared state doesn't last long and gurgling yells ring out as I pass her cubicle.

Opening the first door I come across I try to spot any sign that Edge passed through. Nothing obvious stands out and I'm not sure what I was expecting to find, but the room is empty save for a cleaning drone scrubbing at the blue flooring and a flickering holograph on the wall. It's a familiar path that I've taken a few times when getting to the training rooms and the mess hall but I've never stopped to fully observe my surroundings. I pass by the cleaning drone to examine the doors that lie ahead.

One of them reads 'Medical Supply' and another is simply labelled 'Janitor'. I don't even bother to see what's on the other side as I already know Edge wouldn't have found anything of value in either room. Continuing down the same blue tiled path I try to get a feel of where I need to go. All the rooms I pass, however, seem useless, even to an outsider: multiple rooms for janitorial supplies and storage but not much else. I'm wasting precious minutes by studying each area of the corridor so I take off down the path in a sprint.

When I reach the end of the long hall I let out a grateful sigh as a room marked 'Administration Office' comes into view. With a quick push of a button the door slides upwards and I duck underneath it before it fully opens, beginning to jog down the new route. It only takes ten seconds before I hear the deep baritone of Vaughn's voice nearby and I hastily hug the closest wall to shield myself from his possible view.

"Answer me, soldier!" I hear Vaughn yell somewhere behind me, "on whose authority are you acting? This room is top management only."

The person he's yelling at doesn't answer like I expect and I pop my head around the corner to make sure it's not Edge that he's found. It is though. Standing tall with his shoulders squared Edge crosses his arms in a further act of insubordination. His enclosed helmet doesn't do much to hide the angry glare he's sending Vaughn's way and I can see the dark red flush creeping up the sergeant's neck at his movements.

"Sergeant!" I blurt out, casually emerging from my position against the wall as though I just arrived. "I've been looking for you."

Edge's mouth drops open in surprise when he sees me and his arms fall to his side as he begins to move forward in my direction. Vaughn meanwhile spins around to face me, his beady eyes narrowing in distaste at my appearance.

"What're you doin' here, prisoner?" he says with a step towards me, "Madame wanted to see you after lunch."

"How was I supposed to know that? She never said anything of the sort to me," I retort, placing my hands on my hips in an effort to draw Vaughn's anger away from Edge and to myself. "I was left to wander around by myself looking for a change of clothes. The others had mentioned that I smelled so I wanted to freshen up but I got lost."

Vaughn's eyes trail over my body and down the ratty outfit I'm wearing, giving me an almost lewd look as he does so. I glimpse at Edge from the corner of my eye to see him frantically shake his head at my words, all pretences of toughness dropped, and I subtly try to tilt my head to tell him to get out of here non-verbally.

"And you were looking for me to help you get changed?" Vaughn snaps his gaze back to mine and I furrow my brows in annoyance at his tone. "I suppose Madame didn't say _when _you were to see her after lunch," he says, coming close enough to tug on the middle of my jumpsuit. His hand lingers a little too long around my waist so when I notice Edge making his way down the corridor I jump back away from the sergeant quickly. Unfortunately it doesn't distract him enough.

"You!" Vaughn spins back on his heel and points at Edge, stopping him straight in his tracks. "I'll be issuing a full report for your unruliness, Orderly."

He flicks open the metal clasping on his armguard. "B-178: disorderly conduct and unauthorized access to secure room." He closes the clasp. "Now, get out of my sight."

With another look back at me Edge slowly begins his journey down the hall, exiting through one of the doors to the side. Once he's out of sight Vaughn turns back to me and tugs at my outfit again.

"We need to get you into something more respectable for an Enforcer of La Bastille," he says, motioning for me to follow him in the same direction Edge went. We pass through another door before stopping in front of one named 'Enforcer outfit storage'. With a swipe of his hand he opens the lock to the storage room and motions me forward.

"Ladies first."

I enter the cramped room with a sigh. The walls are lined with shelves that seem to hold several dozen uniforms of various colours and sizes. I pick up the closest one and rub the coarse material through my fingers while Vaughn sorts through a pile of black ones a meter away. After a minute he throws me a heavy bundle and I catch it before it hits the floor.

It was a small Enforcer outfit, similar to the ones I saw on the soldiers during the Slum mission. Covered in thick padding from neck to ankle it was obviously a female uniform judging by its form-fitting shape and strategic casing. I study it for a second more, waiting for Vaughn to take me back to my cell so I can change.

When he doesn't make a move to leave I ask cautiously, "Aren't you going to take me back to my room?"

"Why would I do that?" he says, raising a single eyebrow. I pause for a moment and look back down to the garment in my hands, wringing the sleeves nervously. He doesn't want to waste time in walking me back to my prison, which is fine by me; his company is less than desirable.

"All right," I answer, making a move to pass him. His hand shoots out and grabs my arm before I can reach the door though. Letting out a hiss of pain I try to pull away from his firm grip, his fingers digging into the bruises he left on my arm earlier.

"No really," he starts, closing the exit door behind him with his free hand. The room loses the warm lighting of La Bastille's corridors and instantly becomes eerie as the one artificial light bulb hanging from the ceiling tries to light the whole area. "Why would I do that?"

I lean away from him even though his hand doesn't allow much space between us. "Because I need to get changed," I say, feeling my heartbeat pick up to an unhealthy speed. Vaughn lets out a condensing laugh before he releases my arm.

"You can get changed here, prisoner."

I stare at him in shock; surely he doesn't expect me to strip off in the middle of a closed room with him only a meter away. But as he folds his arms and stares at me, waiting, I know that's exactly what he expects me to do. He doesn't see me as an equal at all.

"I'm not going to do that, Serge," I say, eyeing the exit behind Vaughn and weighing my options. The room's much too small for any kind of complex combat but if I can get a single clean hit in I might be able to make it out and find safety with Madame's protection.

"Yes you are," he says, pulling out an electronic switchblade from a pocket on his pant leg, "I'm so damn tired of the disobedience from _my_ soldiers today!" He walks forward and places the tip of the blade on my shoulder strap.

I hold my breath as he hooks a beefy finger under the strap of my jumpsuit and bunches the material together. With an impossibly fast hand he slides the blade under the material and cuts through the strap, leaving the ruined fabric to fall uselessly over my collarbone. The feeling of the cold steel from the knife makes me leap back automatically, my back colliding with the hard shelf behind me.

Blood runs down my shoulder from Vaughn's actions and I clasp a firm hand to the wound in an attempt to staunch the flow. I can feel my heartbeat race under my palm.

"Now, take off the rest of that filthy rag and I'll take you to Madame," he continues, breathing heavily as though he just ran a marathon. "Be a good soldier and do as I say."

I don't make any move to take off my clothing. The man standing before me was insane, there was no way I was going to be any more vulnerable than I was now. Thousands of possibilities on how this situation could end flash through my mind and not a single one was in my favour.

Licking my lips out of nervous habit I try to reason with the sergeant's devotion to rank and to perhaps instil some fear from a higher power. "I'm a loyal servant of Madame's and I know she won't appreciate this kind of treatment to one of her followers."

He pauses for a second as my words fully register in his undersized brain. Flexing his right hand just a fraction he surges forward and slaps me across the face so hard my head snaps to the side and my ears begin to ring. My mouth fills with blood from a cut on the inside of my lip and I gag on the taste of it, trying to swallow the liquid in gulps rather than spit it out.

"You think I'm going to let you remember this?" Vaughn whispers, his face hovering dangerously close to mine, "you think I'm going to let you tattle to the governor – to Madame – about this? I'm not stupid. I've done this to other prisoners, though none have been stupid enough to _dare _tell me 'no'."

"No," I whisper firmly, reeling my head back in preparation of an attack, "and fuck you!" I rapidly bring my head forward, smashing into Vaughn's own forehead with brute force. It was enough to make him stagger back and lose his balance, falling to his side, clutching a shelf for support as his legs drop under him.

With heavy adrenaline coursing through my veins I rush to the closed door but before I'm able to release the electronically-held latch I freeze. A tingling sensation that feels like a cold shiver is coming from the nape of my neck, from my Sensen. In less than a second it changes from a cold feeling to an indescribable bout of burning, a feeling so real and hot that I'm almost certain fire must be emerging from the device on my neck. I open my mouth to scream but no sound comes out and my body collapses on the hard ground, twitching uncontrollably. The Enforcer outfit I was holding flutters uselessly to the side.

The feeling of fire disappears and the twitches die down, but it seems my body has been completely sapped of energy. I'm lying on my side, unmoving save for a few blinks, trying desperately to get my limbs to respond to mental commands.

'_Get up, Nilin. Get up!'_

A rough hand pushes on my open shoulder, forcing my body onto its back, immobile on the cold tiles. Vaughn's disgusting face comes into view and he sits down to straddle my hips, placing a knee on either side of my ribcage. His weight, especially combined with the heavy uniform, is slowly crushing down on my hipbone and lower intestines but I barely feel it as the fear of the situation is the only thing I can focus on.

"I'm gonna ignore that, Doll," he says with a lewd roll of his hips. From my motionless position on the floor I'm able to feel the growing bulge in his pants with every shift of his body. Bile rises up in my throat and I almost suffocate trying to swallow it back down. Maybe choking to death would be better than what this disgusting excuse for a man has in store for me. "I do like them with fight actually. The others were so boring, but not you. If you hadn't attacked me your Sensen wouldn't have short-circuited, and you might've been able to enjoy this too."

So this is what Madame meant by my Sensen short-circuiting after attacking a high ranking official. This is much, much worse than just becoming unconscious like I assumed would happen.

The switchblade is back in Vaughn's hand and he roughly cuts the other side of my outfit's straps, allowing them to fall down, exposing both my collarbones and the swell of my breasts. My mind is frantically trying to struggle against the imposed physical restrictions set by the Sensen but it's no use, I can't even move my mouth to scream. I'm left at the mercy of a self-confessed rapist with a blade.

He pulls the middle of my ruined prisoner suit up, slashing through the material at the top and slowly dragging the sharp edge of the tool down to my hips, cutting the garment in two. Lifting his own hips up for a second he continues cutting before settling back down onto my, now bare, torso again. The prisoner uniform has been cleaved in half, and Vaughn's eyes trail over my exposed body, only covered by an old bra and panties.

"Fantastic," he whispers in awe as his large hands spill onto my stomach, rubbing in circular motions over my skin and around my waist. He slowly brings them up to hover over my breasts before he clamps down, roughly squeezing them in his vice grip. Humiliated tears form in my eyes and it's then that I swear to myself Vaughn's death will be slow and painful. I'm going to make him pay.

He rocks forward on my hips again, the bulge in his pants now uncomfortably hard. Placing his hands on either side of my bare shoulders he leans in and gyrates against me, his eyes closing in pleasure. The thrusts against my torso become more frantic as he jerks his body with erratic timing.

His eyes flash open and he stands up quickly, tugging at various places around his uniform, removing his armguards and helmet entirely. Obviously he wants to feel skin on skin contact. My mind starts to shut itself down in preparation for the torture to come as I watch Vaughn struggle to remove more parts of his clothing.

"I was never a patient man," he says with a leer, pulling at the padding on his shoulder and sinking back down onto me.

Warm light from the corridor floods the room for a second, making my eyes blur at the sudden overflow of light, before it gets shut off again. Vaughn stops mid-strip to face the door and it's then that I see him.

Edge is standing in front of the closed door, each hand gripping the side panels of the frame and his chest heaving with rapid intakes of breath. His unshielded eyes look feral, _wild, _and black as he takes in the scene. The sound that comes out of his throat isn't human, the half snarl, half yell is the most animalistic noise I've ever heard and if I wasn't so relieved it might've scared me. But I am just too relived. Any doubts I felt toward Edge just drift away as immense calm and gratitude takes place instead.

Edge lunges forward and grabs a fistful of Vaughn's hair, dragging his body off mine. Vaughn releases an angry yell of his own but it's immediately silenced when Edge smashes his face into the only wall that didn't have a shelf. He pulls the sergeant's head back before crushing it into the wall again and I hear bones shattering on impact. He does it once more, blood now dripping down the wall in large buckets, before he throws Vaughn's body to the ground.

The second after Vaughn hits the ground with a dull thud Edge scrambles around and kneels next to my prone form, taking in the abuse my body endured. He picks up the female Enforcer outfit lying close by and drapes it over my bare form, protecting my modesty.

"Nilin, are you okay?" he whispers, running his warm hands over the sides of my face, tenderly outlining the spot on my forehead where I rammed it against Vaughn's skull. He must understand why I can't talk, or move, because he doesn't ask any more questions and instead picks up another uniform that had fallen during my attack, bunching it up into a ball and placing it under my head as a pillow.

The sound of gurgling breaks the silence and I watch as Vaughn coughs up blood from his position next to me. All tenderness bleeds out of Edge as he picks up the discarded Enforcer helmet, turning it over in his hands and kneeling down on top of Vaughn in a position similar to what I was in only minutes ago.

He brings the helmet down on the side of Vaughn's face quickly, crunching the bones with enough force to kill. Vaughn's head snaps around and I can see a tooth slide out of his mouth with more pools of blood.

"You sick, fucking bastard!" Edge roars, getting up to kick the sergeant in his ribs. I can hear them break on impact, no longer protected by the padding of the uniform. Vaughn coughs again, almost unrecognisable with all the blood coating his face, and tries to spit in Edge's direction.

"You," he coughs, wheezing with effort, "It's you. Errorist."

Picking up the discarded switchblade Edge wastes no time before he plunges it into Vaughn's crotch, who in turn lets out a wail of extreme agony, thrashing his bloodied head around. Edge pulls the blade out slowly, and blood I didn't think the sergeant had left steadily flows out of the wound.

"Yes, it's me, you scummy piece of shit. Number one target hiding in plain sight, taking you fuckers down one by one."

Edge rolls the sergeant onto his stomach and takes hold of his hair again, ramming it down onto the tiled floor several times before letting it drop. His hand is slick with blood when he clenches it into a fist, punching forward into Vaughn's Sensen directly.

There's a bright whirl of colours and images coming from the Sensen. They travel up and around Edge's wrist, curling and spiralling in rapid succession before shattering in an effect similar to fireworks. The horrible gurgles from Vaughn don't make the display any less beautiful and I realise the images playing before me must be his memories.

The brightness climaxes before the remaining images shatter into pieces and Vaughn sinks further into the ground, unmoving. The humiliated tears that were forming in my eyes change to tears of relief, undisturbed at the violence Edge committed against the man.

He doesn't stop there though; rolling Vaughn back onto his spine Edge sits down again onto the sergeant and begins to beat his unconscious form. His hands furiously strike out onto the monster's face, pummelling him over and over. It takes less than a minute before the sound of bones breaking under the weight of Edge's fists stop and he continues to beat down on the mere sacks of boneless meat.

Vaughn looks completely unrecognisable, even if he wasn't covered in blood. His cheekbones were shattered and sunken in, creating an illusion of holes instead of flesh, as was his nose and eyebrow bones. With an almost heavy heart I know there's no way he could survive such a beating.

He was probably dead already.

Edge leans back before shakily getting to his feet and making his way back to my side. He takes the outfit draped over me and places it on a clean, unbloodied spot on the floor before he begins to pull away at my ruined prisoner uniform.

"I'm going to help you into some new clothes. Blink twice if you're uncomfortable," he says, slowing his pace. I don't blink in response though, despite the violence I just witnessed I feel unbelievably comfortable with him.

"Okay." He continues to gently remove the tattered orange clothes before picking up the new, black one. Unzipping the material he helps get me into it, one foot at a time. By the time it's over, and I'm covered in a new black meshed uniform, I feel my body begin to tingle from all the places Edge touched. The suit itself is a good fit; it doesn't feel too tight or too loose.

"Mmph," I murmur, feeling the immobility wear off slightly with the tingles. I tilt my head a little side to side, grateful when it responds to my demands.

"Can you move?" Edge asks, noticing my subtle movements. I shake my head in the negative while he ponders what to do next.

With a quick nod he closes in his helmet, shielding his face, and scoops me up into his arms. There's blood all the way up to his elbow and I feel it seep into my clothes, though the deep black of the material covers it nicely. Hugging me into his broad chest while he opens the exit door it feels like I'm in a soft, rocking cradle rather than the strong arms of a man who possibly just murdered someone.

Quickly passing through the exit and sealing the room behind us Edge shuffles on the spot, removing any lingering traces of Vaughn's blood from his boots.

"I know you don't like it but I'm going to take you back to your room again," he says, shifting my body in his arms, "you shouldn't have left. You shouldn't have risked your safety to help me again."

I want to protest, to tell him I'm just as strong and capable of handling matters as he is, but I don't. I almost want to just go back to the comfort and safety of my cell room, lie down on the hard bed, cover myself in the thin sheet and cry myself to sleep. The reality of what Edge just saved me from hasn't hit me yet.

I squirm in his arms, feeling my body take control again. "Let me down."

He pauses, gingerly helping me down onto my feet. I'm able to steady myself within seconds. The period between full control and complete helplessness must only last a minute. He takes in my appearance, his mouth curling into a frown.

"Nil, what happened?"

"What do you think happened?" I bite back scathingly. He flinches as though I'd struck him.

I sigh, placing a hand on his arm. "Sorry, I'm still in shock. Nothing happened. You saved me before he could-" I gag a little at the thought.

"I saw you though. You should _never_ have had to go through that. I never should have let you leave with him," he begins, grinding his teeth, "but with Madame so close I never expected him to-" he cuts himself off with a snarl. "I'm no better than he was. If he's still alive I'm going to torture him, Nilin. I know I'm not above that level of cruelty and it makes me sick. I'm no better than he was because I _want_ to see him suffer. I want to skin him alive."

It wasn't true, Edge was nowhere near the monster Vaughn was, but I make no effort to persuade him otherwise. He seems like a stubborn mule when he fixates on an idea. Instead I try to change the subject, forcing myself to think of things other than Vaughn's attack.

"What were you doing in the top management only room, Edge?" I ask as we begin walking, very slowly, down the pathway back to the cell block.

He doesn't reply for a second, still grinding his teeth in fury. "I found access codes."

"For our memories?" I gasp, desperately wanting it to be true.

Edge shakes his head. "No, I'll have to rip those straight from Madame. These codes are to architectural structures in and around La Bastille."

I frown, not understanding how that would help us at all except by opening a few locked doors. Opening all the prisoner cells won't accomplish much if they're a screaming mess and they were startled by basically anything it seemed.

"Meaning…?" I enquire.

"Meaning there's a reason we had to get here by hovercraft. La Bastille is surrounded entirely by water, held in place by the Saint-Michel dam, making it unreachable to those without access. With these codes I can make it accessible to our Errorist brothers and sisters, evening out the playing field if only a little," he whispers as we reach the cell blocks, keeping his voice low so we're not overheard.

"But how?" I press, wanting to know the full details.

Edge stops walking suddenly when my cell comes into view. Making her way out of the empty cubicle with purposeful strides was Madame. When she spots us she quickens her pace, her cane echoing around the unusually empty area.

"Darling!" she cries out, standing before us and taking in my new appearance. She completely ignores Edge who begins to rock uncomfortably on his heels, his anger barely being kept in check. "Good, you look more like an Enforcer now that you've gotten rid of those tatters. Follow me, I have a nuisance of a guest whose been waiting quite a while to meet you."

I glance at Edge, who's mouthing something I don't understand, before I begin the walk with Madame back down the same path I took with Vaughn. She's walking a little faster than I would've liked in my energy-less state but I don't mind too much. I don't feel any need to escape from Madame's presence, and it beats sitting in my prison, crying myself to sleep over recent events.

It takes only minutes before I'm walking passed the outfit storage room again, hoping against all hope Madame doesn't notice the bloody footprints lingering around the entrance. Or worse still: entering the storage herself.

Thankfully she doesn't and she leads me into the training room. It was so close to the storage room that I begin to sweat at the thought of someone finding Vaughn's body that quickly. I'm so busy shaking my hands to get rid of the sweat that I almost miss Madame's introduction of the person standing in the middle of the training area.

"Nilin, this is Maggie Belrose, reporter for Plati News," Madame says as a woman with short, vibrant red hair reaches her hand out for a handshake. I take it firmly with a polite nod of my head.

There's numerous people crowding the pretty lady with the red hair, camera drones fly about in all directions, whirling around my head. Clicks and flashes pop from around us but it doesn't faze the red-head.

"Yes. Maggie Belrose, Plati News, top journalist for Neo-Paris," Maggie repeats, releasing my hand with a flourish. "It is so exciting to meet you, Errorist. It is a good day indeed."

She snaps around to the men at her side and points to the training room wall. "Sort this nonsense out, gentlemen. I don't ever want to see Kid X-Mas' rat face again." I look around the room, taking in the half dozen posters and holographs of a familiar man – Kid X-Mas. Apparently the other Enforcers get a lot of work-out motivation from this burly man whose real name lingers somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind.

"Channel Fear," Maggie scoffs, shaking her head as the others get to work taking down all the merchandise, "ridiculous. Can you believe I'm actually losing ratings to that one-trick pony? Well not today! No-one will be able to resist watching the first interview with the most wanted Errorist in Neo-Paris!"

"Second most wanted, Miss Belrose," Madame corrects with a snide smirk. Tension fills the air and I wonder if there's more animosity between these two than necessary.

"Do you need to be here, Madame Voorhees?" Maggie retorts sharply. There's a scuttling sound as the Plati News crew arranges chairs in the middle of the training room. One of them motions for me to sit in the available chair and I do so gracefully.

"I am the governor of La Bastille. I am wherever I'm needed," Madame spits. Maggie ignores her entirely as she sits in the chair opposite of me and leans forward to grab a lock of my hair.

"Is this natural?" she asks, twisting a blonde strand. I pull away from her with a shrug, hoping she doesn't notice any of Vaughn's blood that I know must have dried in my hair. "What am I saying, of course it's not. Still though, genetic manipulation of hair colour seems a little too expense for your parents."

"My parents?" I ask, my eyes widening in surprise. "You know them?"

"I don't associate with trash, dear, which I can only assume they were. No decent citizens of any worth or money raise Errorist children. Now, quiet down, I'm here to ask the questions."

The flying camera drones flicker red, and the noise from everybody settles down.

"Welcome to Maggie Said It First, your daily, politically incorrect news source and general blabathon. We have an extremely special guest here today, number one Errorist Nilin herself!" Maggie gushes as the drones zoom in on my emotionless face.

"Number two," Madame drawls from the side.

"Rewind and delete!" Maggie shouts at the drones, who whirl back into their beginning positions, before turning her attention to Madame. "If you don't shove that damn cane in your mouth, Astrid, I will retract all the funding for the interview and give a caustic report on the quality of La Bastille's inside."

Madame narrows her eyes at the reporter and leans on her cane, undisturbed by the threat. Maggie calls to her news crew as they start up again.

"Welcome to Maggie Said It First. We have a very special guest with us today, number one Errorist Nilin herself! Now, Nilin, is it true that you were captured on charges of murder?"

The drone zooms back onto me and I blink confusingly at it. "Yes, I believe that was the official charge."

"And do you deny these official charges?"

"Well I can't remember anything so I can neither deny nor confirm them, can I?" I resist rolling my eyes at the inane question.

Maggie puts on a fake sympathetic look and says, "That's right, prisoners get their memories removed on entry to La Bastille, only to have them reinstalled when they finish their sentence. How did that feel? To have your memories removed?"

I'm again brought back to the feeling of agony, when they forced their way inside my mind. It's the second time in two or so hours I've been asked that question.

"It was the worst feeling in the world. I couldn't describe the brutal pain of it if I tried and I wouldn't wish it upon my worst enemy," I confess, though it wasn't entirely true. I would wish it upon Vaughn if he recovers from his injuries.

Maggie clucks her tongue in approval. "And what of your association with Errorist leader, Edge? I hear it was rumoured the two of you are engaged to be wed."

I'm about to answer that it was never like that but I quickly remember Edge has never been mentioned to me directly by name. "Who's Edge?"

"Who's Edge indeed. I can see how hard you're trying to leave that awful part of your life behind you and we're all rooting for your recovery. The uniform suits you well," she says as the cameras focus on my Enforcer clothing, "and it really is poetic justice for you to see the _Error _of your ways and help fight the good fight. It just goes to show that people are born good, their ideals might skew them onto a different path but when we get a blank slate we know the difference between right and wrong."

'_She's such a phony crackpot,' _I think with a scowl. Talking about good and bad like it's as black and white as Edge makes it seem.

I'm about to respond as such, to tell her just how ridiculous the notion is when static fills the room and buzzing echoes around us.

"Citizens of Neo-Paris," a voice calls out from the static. It was Edge. I gasp in shock at his recklessness, surely he wasn't about to expose himself. Everyone else in the rooms drops what they're doing and falls silent. Even Madame looks flustered at his voice.

"I am unwilling to play the role of a docile pawn any longer. I am unwilling to sit by and watch the brutal treatment of my comrades continue without retaliation. The Memorize Corporation is a leech on this society and those that oppose the parasite that it is are being locked away as prisoners for the crime of trying to free humanity from their shackles! Well, no longer. Everyday more and more innocents are losing the battle for their sanity and are becoming Leapers while the government idly watches from their ivory towers." He pauses for a moment to recollect himself, drawing in a heavy breath.

"I have scheduled the release of lake Saint-Louis from the Saint-Michel dam. Within the hour the entire district will be flooded and only then, when you have lost all the material comforts paid for with the blood memories of the less-fortunate, will you understand a fraction of what the rest of us have lost. And I can assure you what we have lost digs much deeper than mere possessions. I am not without mercy though, you will have enough time to evacuate the area. Consider yourselves warned."

The static ends and the room plunges into chaos. Madame yells out for Captain Trace while the Plati News team frantically gets their gear together.

"Live! We're going live!" Maggie yells over the pandemonium.

"Citizens! A threat has just been issued by Errorist leader Edge against the people of Mnemopolis. From the looks of things here in La Bastille the S.A.B.R.E. Force were not prepared at all for a response attack of this magnitude after the capture of Errorist Nilin," Maggie continues as Madame orders her soldiers to search for Sergeant Vaughn and Captain Trace. "It makes you wonder where our defence money is being put. I would advise the people in Saint-Michel to leave their homes and head for higher ground, one with a wireless signal so you can get up to the minute updates right here on Plati News. And remember, Maggie told you first!"

The news team pack up extraordinarily fast and make their way to the exit.

"Thanks for the shoot, governor. Kid X will have nothing on us now," Maggie calls out as she leaves the area with her crew members and drones. Madame doesn't pay her any attention as she orders the remaining Enforcers into formation.

"You!" she points to a nearby soldier, Nox I recall, "Get me Olga Sedova on a secure line now!" Nox takes off out of the room in a sprint, passing Trace who rushes into the training room at the same speed.

"Gabriel," Madame calls as the captain reaches her side. "Get one, two or a hundred dozen of your men down to the Comfortress and secure the area. I want a third of them to assist the citizens, a third to keep that water in the dam, and the rest to find that son-of-a-bitch Errorist who thinks he can make me look a fool in front of the entire country!"

The captain nods in understanding, striding out of the room while yelling orders at the other running soldiers. It's pure chaos. Unbridled madness. The entire prison staff have no idea what they're doing and are running around in literal circles. Madame looks only a minute away from having an anger-induced break down.

Nox runs back into the room a minute later and rushes to Madame's side, his hand coated in blood. My stomach turns at what that might mean.

"Olga Sedova is on transmission line two-five-five, but Madame I have more important news," he says, turning his palm up to show Madame the blood on it. I swallow the bile rising in my throat. "I found Sergeant Vaughn in the 'Enforcer outfit storage' room. He's dead, Madame. Knife wounds I think."

Madame stares at the blood on Nox's hand before she hunches over the tiniest bit and screams out in frustration. It's a shrill, bitter cry of pure rage and hatred. She slashes out at Nox, cuffing him in the head with the heavy side of her cane.

"_Fuck!" _she screams with fury, "How the fuck did this happen, soldier! How do we have a dead fucking Sergeant in _my _prison! The most secure fucking prison in Europe! Tell me, soldier!" she beats him with her cane again and he takes it in his stride.

"I don't know, Madame. I didn't stay around to find anything, I came straight to you."

"Go figure it out then!" she screams as Nox sprints away again and out of sight. He's going to know it was me; my old prisoner outfit is there, I'm still covered in Vaughn's blood and I remember the tracker placed in me still has hours of running time left; it'll know I was in the room with Vaughn. It's only a matter of time before I'm probably executed for the murder of a high ranking La Bastille member.

I still have a case for my defence though, I didn't kill him; I couldn't have with how they wired my Sensen. The others must've known he was a rapist as well, a knife in the crotch is a sure sign of that kind of retaliation.

Captain Trace walks back in our direction, his back stiff and tense. In his hands is the torn shreds of my old outfit, it's saturated in blood but even from this distance I can see the bold numbers '84-178' on the leg.

"Vaughn's dead," he says calmly, holding out my prison jumpsuit.

"I already fucking know that, Captain!" Madame yells, her hair is frazzling at the ends making her look a little insane. "Have you got your men in order?"

Trace blatantly ignores her question as he pushes the bloodied garment into her hands. "Nilin killed him."

She looks at the item in her hands for a moment before throwing the ruined uniform down to ground and pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the blood from her hands in disgust. "Well it's not a huge loss, is it Captain?" Trace's mouth drops open in surprise.

"Nilin, get back to your cell," Madame starts, "I'll deal with you later. Captain, continue readying your men. Be ready to leave in five minutes." She rubs at her temples in frustration while Trace remains unmoving.

"Madame," he begins, looking in my direction. I'm still seated in the chair from the interview. "I think we should take Nilin with us. Edge wouldn't dare blow the dam open if we have his girlfriend for collateral."

"No. She needs more treatment with Doctor Quaid if what you're accusing her of is true."

"It's not," I butt in. The two of them face me in unison. "I couldn't have killed Vaughn, my Sensen would've short-circuited if I so much as touched him."

Madame continues to furiously rub at her forehead before she motions for the both of us to leave.

"There's no time for this. Trace, take her if you think it will help. We can sort out this fucking murder mystery when your troops arrive back. Do not linger after an hour. The citizens aren't worth the risk of S.A.B.R.E. Force lives."

Trace takes me by the arm and leads me back out of the training room and onto the path back to the airship. He doesn't let it go until we're outside.

There's at least fifty Enforcers waiting on the platform already, and six different aircrafts of various designs. The sky has blackened since last time I was here and the beautiful full moon covers the metal vehicles with a glowing shine. More time must have passed than I thought.

"Men, listen up!" Trace yells to the crowd of unruly men, instantly settling them, "We're heading into the Saint-Michel district. All Enforcers beginning with A to G are to round up the civilians, paying attention only to the ones of importance: rich, clean or sane. Enforcers H to P are in charge of settling the dam, find the electrical signal and secure the walls, hold it up with mud and sticks if you damn well have to. The rest of you are to track the signal left by Edge, kill him on sight. The reward money will still stand."

"I also need three volunteers to babysit this one," Trace lifts me up by the arm before dropping me back down. "She's to be tied at the base of the rotunda in Saint-Michel so that if the Errorist floods the district she's the first to die."

"I volunteer," a man in a white uniform steps forward and stands next to me.

"As do I," comes the voice of another man in the same outfit who comes to my other side. They're different to the usual clothing I see the men wear which makes me think they're a special unit of some kind.

I see Edge emerge from his hiding spot in the crowd, fully dressed and shielded as he takes his spot behind me and nods to Trace. The others still have no idea that the man they're willing to pay half a million for is standing in front of them.

"You four take the small craft over there," Trace points to a large airship, only slightly smaller than the rest, "the Leapers are already in their cages and ready to go."

'_Leapers?!'_

The rest of the men get organised as quickly as humanely possible and begin to file into their respective crafts while I board the small one with Edge by my side. I take my seat at the back, hyper aware of the bald, screeching Leapers in two cages behind me, while Edge takes the seat directly next to me.

Our aircraft is the last to take off behind the others and I can hear Trace's voice coming from the stack of gloves nearby, the sound echoing in the cabin. There's no noise from the other two Enforcers who are sitting up as straight as a board and with their lack of attention I reach over and grab Edge's gloved hand in my own.

He glances down at my movements in surprise but he soon removes the item from his arm and takes my hand again, squeezing it in a reassuring gesture.

He smiles down at me; it's a sneaky, mischievous smile that warms the very centre of my heart but promises trouble at the same time. I bring his un-gloved hand to my lips and press a soft kiss on his wrist. I can feel his heartbeat in his wrist pick up at my action and I smile up at him with a mischievous grin of my own.

I pull his hand down from my lips and onto my lap as I look out the window, watching the stars flicker by.

I trust Edge knows what he's doing. Whatever plan he's hatched up I'll try to follow to the best of my abilities. He's the sort of leader that wouldn't make hasty decisions like blowing up a dam without good reason, though his murder of Vaughn might make it seem otherwise.

I close my eyes and continue rubbing my fingers over Edge's palms, waiting for us to land in Saint-Michel. I trust him.

* * *

**Thanks for reading, reviewing or following. **

**I was close to stopping this story even though I have most things outlined because this fandom is so small, but your lovely reviews and PMs keep me motivated. :) **** I'd also like to point out that I don't think Edge is a peaceful or non-aggressive person, judging by his original character's words and actions. I hope his (almost) heartless actions to those that aren't Nilin don't disturb anyone!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Rated T**

* * *

The view over Neo-Paris is incredibly beautiful at night. I have no idea what the city looks like during the day, as last time I was in an airship like this we touched down in Slum 404 before I even had the chance to see, but the neon lights currently flickering around is a spectacular display.

I'm leaning over in my seat, hypnotised by the reflections dancing on the water surrounding the prison, when I feel Edge's hand twitch under mine. His fingers are tapping in an easy rhythm on the top of my hand in what I assume is a motion to get my attention. I turn back to face him only to see he's resting comfortably against his chair, his head tilting away from me with a small smile playing on his lips.

Within the small amount of hours Edge spent at La Bastille he's begun to grow a thin layer of facial hair, giving him a very distinct, a very different look, to the man I first met. Seeing him so content and relaxed makes something in the pit of my stomach tingle with a feeling of butterflies that I pointedly try to ignore. In an effort to disregard the tingling sensations I turn my head even further around to observe the Leapers quietly rocking in their metal cages behind us.

They were pitiful creatures that vaguely resembled humans, but were human enough that I couldn't help but feel sympathy for them. I knew what it was like to be holed up in a prison, having others treat you like less than human, and watching these Leapers struggle to crouch into a comfortable position makes my heart ache for them. One of them stops shuffling around to catch my eye and I grip Edge's hand tightly in an instinctual response to the sudden rush of fear that goes through me. Its milky white eyes stare at me, as its head tips in confusion at my presence. The drooping skin that half-resembles a mouth alternates between open and closed as it reaches a molten hand out through the bars in my direction.

Edge's head snaps back to meet mine at my sudden increase of strength against his palm and I motion silently to the Leapers behind us. He spares them a quick glance before shaking his head at me, straightening his back and tightening his own grip in return. I can feel all the ease he had previously just wash away as a heavy tension replaces it. Even his grasp begins to feel more claustrophobic than comforting.

I look towards the other two Enforcers on the aircraft, hoping they haven't noticed our intimate displays with our hands and thankfully they haven't. They're too busy mumbling to each other to pay Edge or me any attention at all and I think they might even be avoiding having to look at us on purpose.

Nevertheless I let go of Edge, paranoia welling up in me at the thought of all the questions the others might start asking if they saw us holding hands. Questions I wouldn't have any answers to, questions I don't think even Edge would have answers to if he ever decided to speak.

Edge looks at me with an expression I can't make out through his helmet, but by the way his fingers curl harshly into his own palm and his lips pull into a straight line, I think he may be disappointed that I let go of him so quickly. I'm about to reach back out to take it again but I decide against it and instead lean back against my seat to calm myself, waiting for this hour long ordeal to be over.

It takes a little under five minutes before I feel the aircraft slow down. I peer out of the window again to see a large, glass dome slowly rise up to meet the craft as we descend onto it. This must be our destination point.

'_They're not really going to land on this thing, are they?' _I think with a quick gasp. There's no way the weight of this machine could land on the glass ceiling without crushing it into tiny pieces. It looks much, _much_ too fragile.

When I hear the bottom of the aircraft scrape the glass roof of the dome I close my eyes and grasp frantically at my armrests, preparing myself for the large drop I know must be coming. It doesn't though. Cracking an eye open I look around at the men only to find their amused faces smirking back at me. Even Edge is clamping his lips together in an unsuccessful effort to stifle his laughter at my expense.

With burning cheeks I stand up with the others, who've already started the process of equipping their gloves, though they haven't lost their taunting smiles.

"No offense, but you don't seem dangerous enough to need escorts," one of the Enforcers smirk as he moves passed me and heads towards the Leaper cage. His glove lights up and attaches around the necks of the creature-like humans, almost like he was leashing them the same way one would do a pet. "Come on, you filthy buggers."

The other burly Enforcer does the same with the rest of the Leapers as Edge fits his glove back over his bare hand. With the soldiers distracted he picks up a spare glove, lying discarded at the side of the aircraft, and throws it in my direction.

I catch it in the air and quickly slip it on over my wrist before anyone has a chance to stop me. The material is lighter than I expect it to be and I can feel the raw energy it holds coursing through it, making my fingers vibrate softly.

"Let's go," the man with the Leapers says, holding his hand in front of him motioning for Edge and I to leave first. The space we're in is too small for him to try to manoeuvre around us.

With a sturdy jump Edge is the first one out of the craft and on the glass dome. He looks down at the scenery below him before turning back and holding out his hand for me to take. With only a moment's hesitation I take his offered hand and gracefully hop down next to him.

It crosses my mind that I could have pretended to trip, leaving me free to press my body against his without needing any excuses, but I'm far too agile for a ruse of that kind. I couldn't trip and make it look like a mistake convincingly. My face flushes at the fact that despite knowing this I still wish I had tried anyway.

With my hand still grasped in his, Edge pulls me a little bit away from the airship easily, leaving plenty of room for the other two men and their Leapers to descend onto the dome.

When we're all standing on the roof one of the soldiers signals to the pilot who begins to ascend away from us as the other one opens up a holographic screen from his glove. He runs a finger over the image before shutting it down entirely with a soft click. A whirring sound comes from one of the glass panels near us as it slides back, giving us the space we need to drop down to the people below.

The soldiers quickly assemble a pair of grapples to the dome's roof and hook a clip onto the belt of my uniform before I even get the chance to react. After they secure the Leapers onto the grapple wire they both descend through the open panel and onto the ground a hundred metres or so below them without a word.

Edge tugs sharply on the hook around my belt, making sure it's firmly secure. "Wouldn't put it passed them," he says a little coldly before grabbing the rope and making his way towards the bottom. I peer down somewhat nervously at the three men from my position on the roof, grasping onto the hanging wire they were expecting me to climb down with.

I can't feel the steel through my glove but the energy the wire emits makes my hand tighten unconsciously around it. With a deep sigh I mimic the others lead and hop forward onto the grapple which effortlessly pulls my body down to the foot of the dome safely.

As I near the bottom Edge reaches out and hauls me gently off the steel cable, holding my shoulders firmly while I steady myself. When I'm balanced again I take a few seconds to look around at the part of the city we've landed in.

It's a circular arena, full of people of all ages shopping or having dinner at a nearby café. While some of them seem nervous at the sight of four Enforcers, and eight Leapers, none of them are panicking the way I thought they would at the idea of their district being flooded within the hour. They're simply walking around leisurely, taking in the the sights behind the windows of various stores.

"Look, mummy, look!" a child screams nearby, tugging at an older woman's hand while pointing in my direction. "It's that bad lady from the posters. What are those monsters with her?"

The woman takes a quick glance at me before pulling harshly on her child's arm, dragging her away from us. I roll my eyes at the scene as more and more civilians begin to murmur at my sudden appearance. Several of them begin to run away at the sight of the Leapers with us while others have taken out miniature camera drones to snap up the scene of the once famous Errorist now working for her enemy.

Just as I'm about to step forward to slap the drones away, the two nameless Enforcers begin walking towards the growing crowd, charging up their gloves in front of them in a threatening manner. The Leapers at their side grow impatient, thrashing their heads from side to side as the fearful citizens look on.

"All civilians are to leave this district under orders from Captain Trace, commander of S.A.B.R.E. Force!" one Enforcer yells to the unmoving crowd. "If you do not leave willingly then you will be removed by force. It is in your best interests and safety to comply."

The majority of the crowd immediately disperses in either fear or faux respect while a couple of the braver ones remain put.

"You can't treat us like this. We're not criminals!" A murmur of agreement starts to grow in the lingering few, who are nodding their heads and standing their ground firmly in front of us. A man steps forward from the crowd, pointing at the Enforcer while trying to maintain a brave face.

"Yeah! What gives you the right to order law-obeying citizens around and threaten our peace with those _things_? There's no martial law here."

"Leave these premises at once!" the soldier yells again, "Relocate to higher ground, or do you all want to die!" He flexes the leash on the Leapers who begin to thrash around more violently. The action causes the civilians to gasp and scatter, all bravado lost while they trip over themselves in an effort to exit the area. The only ones left are nearby shop and café workers who scramble about to pack up as quickly as possible, shooting fearful looks at us while they do so.

What sounded like an innocent attempt to get the people moving out of harm's way came out more like a dangerous threat, and the people of the district have obviously taken it as such.

"Ah, Saint-Michel," the soldier says, moving forward to circle the base of the rotunda after the last citizen has left, "where the people are snobbier and more stubborn than Madame."

He takes a seat on the edge of a fountain that's situated directly in the middle of the empty area and pulls the Leapers into place at his side. Perched on top of the fountain, made with brass and gold, sits an unpleasant statue of an angel with a raised sword about to destroy a cowering demon.

I lean forward, taking a seat on the opposite side to the man and run my hand through the water that's cascading out from the side of the demon and pooling around the bottom. The glove stops me from feeling the liquid but the motion of water rippling over my fingers calm me anyway. It makes me feel like I'm cleansing my hands from the figurative blood of Vaughn that's on them.

"Should we tie her to this ugly guy?" I hear the man ask. With a quick glance back up I see he's addressing Edge directly, pointing to the fountain I'm running my hand through. There's a few seconds of tense silence as Edge stares back at the man without answering.

My hand shoots out of the water, causing droplets to spray in all directions, and I shake them thoroughly in front of me. "No, no, there's no need for that. I don't even know where we are, I can't possibly run off, which is why I'm guessing Trace wants me tied up."

The two Enforcers study me with skeptical eyes. "Besides," I continue, "I'm wearing this uniform for a reason. I'm an Enforcer, too. I've proven myself loyal." I wince, hoping they haven't heard of my murder charge yet. Considering they were already at the landing dock when Vaughn's body was found there's a good chance I'm just a regular ex-prisoner to them. I can't recall Trace mentioning the murder to the large group of Enforcers when I was there, but then again, I wasn't really paying close attention to what he was saying; I was much more concerned with the accusation of murder that had just been laid out against me.

"It's true, man. Madame told us to treat her like an ally and one of us, and she has more authority than the commander," the other one says, looking me over head to toe. His eyes linger on the glove over my hand but makes no mention of it or seem to object to its presence.

"Should we confirm our orders with Captain Trace at least?" the other asks, pointing to a section on his gauntlet. With a quick nod of approval the soldier flicks up a panel which emits a loud static sound as it tries to connect to the captain's signal.

I shake my hands again and stand up, needing to let off a bit of the pent up energy circling my body. Another hand slides into mine and squeezes it in reassurance through the dense material.

Edge is standing right behind me, half of his chest pressing up against my shoulder blade, and his head bent low enough that I can feel his warm breath on the shell of my ear. Goosebumps form on the nape of my neck at the sensation and I tilt my head back slightly, leaning against his frame in what I would normally consider an intimate position.

"Shall I get rid of them?" he whispers against me as he lets go of my hand to shift his weight.

I shake my head fervently at the proposal. Now that I know Edge is capable of killing, despite his earlier insistence that our Errorist group weren't murderers, I don't want to take the chance on what his methods of 'getting rid' of someone might be. I might've engaged in the same violence before my memories were taken from me, but it doesn't make those actions right.

"Sir?" the first soldier speaks into his glove after the static disappears. "Captain? This is V-435, assigned to watch prisoner Nilin. Come in."

We wait in silence before Trace's voice comes up from the open panel; there's faint yelling in the background along with the sounds of glass breaking and gunshots. "All available units are to assemble at the Saint-Michel square immediately. Citizens are carrying unauthorised weaponry and are engaging in suspected Errorist activity. Repeat: all available units to assemble at the Saint-Michel square. Shoot to detain, _not _kill. Over."

My mouth falls open in surprise and the two Enforcers glance at each other, clearly shocked by the order from Trace. They don't seem concerned at all that he ignored their radio call as they turn back to me and Edge, who has moved from behind me to my side.

"Good thing we came out in droves, huh," V says as he splits two of his Leapers off and quickly hands them to Edge who takes them with extreme caution. Their leashes attach to electric cables joining at the wrist, and they immediately settle at his side as though they know who their new owner is. "Tie her up wherever if you think it's necessary. Keep an eye out for the Errorists, they might pass through here. We'll let you know if the extra help is needed."

With a nod of affirmation from Edge the two men scurry off up a nearby flight of stairs and out of sight. I look to Edge, who in turn is looking at his Leapers tied at his wrist, with curiosity. He's been parading around as an Enforcer for over half a day and not a single person has questioned it so far. In fact, none of the lowly soldiers I've talked to have been intimidating or soldier-like at all; they probably wouldn't recognise him even if he spoke directly to them.

I'm brought out of my thoughts as one of the Leapers spring in my direction, undisturbed by the electric, opaque chain around its neck. Edge yanks it, _him_, back so roughly that he collapses backwards onto his side, twitching frantically while clawing at his neck.

I sigh, resisting the urge to sit down next to him and stroke his bald scalp until he calms down. I'm still a little troubled at their fascination towards me so I prefer to keep my distance for the time being, but it doesn't make their suffering any easier to witness.

"Shh, easy there," I say to him, crouching down and reaching out but not moving any closer. He stops clawing at his neck and resumes staring at me from his spot on the ground.

"You don't need to be so harsh with them," I tell Edge as he brings the Leapers back in line. He presses a hand to the side of his helmet, releasing the shielding that covers his face and looks me over with a confused frown that makes those odd feelings flutter in my stomach again.

"I didn't say a word to them. I wasn't going to get rid of them by killing them if that's what you're thinking, Nil, just by overworking their Sensen."

I shake my head and motion towards the Leapers huddling obediently at Edge's side. The one that was pulled back is shivering, with his long, thin fingers raking over his blotchy skin as his eyes alternate between studying the floor and me. "No, not the Enforcers, I mean the Leapers."

Edge looks at me in surprise before looking back down to the chained beings. "They're not human anymore. I respect what you're trying to say but-" I cut him off quickly with a hand in the air as I get back onto my feet.

"Stop. I don't think you do," I reply, casting my eyes away from his stricken, confused face to take in my surroundings further. "All you've talked about is freeing people but you ignore the sufferings of people only centimetres from you and talk about disposing other like they're trash. Violence only brings about more violence, Edge, and you're a violent person by nature it seems."

He looks lost as he moves forward a little and hovers his free hand over one of my shoulders without ever touching it, though his twitching fingers seem like they desperately want to.

"I don't know what you want me to say. We've tried the peaceful, non-violent approach before, Nilin. It never works."

Turning back to face him I take hold of his hovering hand, mindful of the Leapers in the other, and envelope it in my own. "Maybe it does work; maybe it just needed more time."

Edge shakes his head though he makes no move to dislodge his trapped hand. "We've taken that route for _years. _Within a month of threats and force we've accomplished more than in two years of peaceful protests. If you had your memory you wouldn't argue with me on this."

"Well I don't have it. You said we weren't murderers, and while I trust you, I _do_, you're about to wipe out hundreds, maybe thousands, of people with this flood that can easily be avoided. You may not consider Leapers humans, but there's no way you can deny these people are humans. There are _children _here. We are about to become murderers of innocent _children_."

I sigh heavily, trying to reign in my emotions before they take over me. I use my spare hand, that's not holding tightly onto Edge, to run my fingers through my increasingly messy hair. "It's inhumane to flood them. I can't, we can't… you'd have to be a robot or machine to think the end justifies the means this way."

He pulls away slightly before entwining his fingers with mine, dragging them up to his lips in an action similar to the one I did for him in the aircraft. He kisses my gloved fingertips softly and I feel my heart beat frantically against my rib-cage and my breath catch in my throat. How does this man have such an effect on my body?

"That's the thing," he whispers against them, "there's not going to be any flood." My eyes widen in disbelief as his lips pull into a playful smile. I glance around to make sure no-one is about to overhear us – and thankfully the rotunda is still completely empty – before I lean in close.

"What do you mean there's not going to be a flood?" I whisper harshly, watching as his smile only grows.

'_He's so handsome when he does that,'_ I think before I can stop myself. Pinching myself mentally I bring myself back to the _much_ more important topic at hand.

"What was that about access codes and our Errorist brothers and sisters then? A lie?"

"Not a lie. I do have the ability to blow the dam." He kisses my fingers once more before letting them go to open his glove panel. Manoeuvring the Leapers aside he points to the holographic image that hovers above. It seems to be a blueprint of the Saint-Michel dam, circling the perimeter of La Bastille. "And initially it's what I was going to do. I'm tired of our people getting gunned down while we take the high road."

He tugs on the Leapers' leashes, watching as they scuttle around in discomfort. "Of these _humans _turning into these _creatures_. I was going to give Neo-Paris a spectacular show, an undeniable display of power, but watching you walk away with Madame after your nightmarish ordeal with Vaughn-" I clench my eyes shut briefly at the memory, "- well, it made me reconsider the options."

When he doesn't immediately continue I twirl my hand around impatiently, mimicking a motion I saw Madame use earlier. "And…?"

"_And_," he continues, "I realised a flooded district will only turn more against us. More arrests, more memory wipes and more La Bastille playthings available for their sick amusement. The people rely on Memorize and their Sensens because they're afraid of this new world. They want more memories of a happier time and if I began threatening the people rather than the problem then they'll only become more afraid of us; turning to the enemy to seek comfort and safety."

He points to a section of the holographic image that simply reads '19'. "There's a tunnel connected to the metro that passes through the dam and to the outskirts of the prison. If I feel the situation calls for it I can empty that section without the loss of any life."

Silence falls through the area when he finishes and closes the hologram. There's only the buzzing sound from a nearby billboard to fill in the gaps. I try to understand what this means for us: for Edge, myself and the Errorist movement but Edge continues before I have the chance to fully grasp the consequences.

"The real beauty of the whole thing though is that the Enforcers are taking themselves down without my help."

"What do you mean?" I question, my eyebrows furrowing together in confusion.

"I only broadcast my message to La Bastille." Edge's smile deepens into something dark and sinister. "Trained by Memorize to fight fire with fire they've only ever responded to our threats with extreme violence. It's what I've been counting on. A hundred armed soldiers are rounding up civilians, who don't know why, under the pretense of protection." He stops to motion around to the empty area and deserted cafés still full with half-eaten meals. "You saw how they reacted to the four of us, by the sounds of it they're reacting even more severely to Trace's group."

My jaw drops in astonishment at the news. From a strategic point the plan is utterly brilliant: separate the citizens from the Enforcers, have them think, now _know, _the police force can turn against the population in an instant. Civilians are being treated like criminals in their eyes for reasons they don't understand, and will never understand if there's no flood coming. To them it's simply a powerful police faction acting as they please against those that have done no wrong.

"But what about the Plati news group?" I ask, remembering Maggie the red-headed woman and her crew, who were still filming while Edge was talking about the dam's destruction. "They would still have footage of your speech, of why the Enforcers acted this way. The people will forgive them when they find out."

Edge seems a little insulted at my words. "I've already erased that data, none of it is left and Miss Belrose never went 'live'. It's all hearsay from now on and there will be a lot of witnesses to speak out against S.A.B.R.E. Force."

"But the reporter is probably a trust-worthy source for news."

Edge scoffs loudly. "She's a talk-show host at the very best; we can easily say she's been paid out by Memorize to speak against us."

I take a seat on the fountain side and start running my fingers through the water again, marvelling a little at the way Edge thinks. "So now we wait."

"We can," he starts as he looks me over seriously, "or I can. I wanted to give you a choice, not just make your decisions for you anymore, but please hear me out. I can get you out of Neo-Paris from here if you let me. There's a smaller group of ours at the next town over. It's Leaper free there; they never take more than they need so no-one is left wanting."

I should have known this would have come up, that he was thinking about getting me out of here when he had the chance; he's been so concerned for my safety that I might've even felt it strange if he didn't make me an offer like this. As soon as he says the words though I know there's no way I can run from my problems in this way.

I watch him carefully from my position under the brass statue. "You're allowing me to stay if that's what I want though? You won't chuck me over your shoulder and make off?"

He nods slightly, his eyes scanning the ground in front of him before casting them over the Leapers in his grip. "If you leave Neo-Paris I can't return your memories. You need to be physically in La Bastille when I release the memory servers. If you do leave, however, we can create a new life, free of the burdens of past war. We can start over when I finish here and hand the Errorist reigns to someone else. It can be just you and me in Neo-Versailles. Just the two of us."

'_Just the two of us.' _My heart leaps back into my throat and my stomach twitches again with the feelings of butterflies at his simple sentence. Memories of his earlier kiss flash in my mind, seducing me with images of what might be the future for us if I chose to leave now.

But as tempting as a quiet life with Edge and others sound I know it will never be enough. I could never be satisfied starting a new life without my memories of the past, even if it was with him.

"I want to stay," I tell him finally, steeling myself with resolve as I wait anxiously for his response. "If all goes well here maybe we can still start over in Neo-Versailles in the future anyway."

His shoulders slump and he faintly shakes his head in disappointment. Obviously he was hoping I would take the route out of the city today, but I can also see relief in his face that he's desperately trying to hide. Perhaps it was relief that sooner or later I was going to get my memories back. "It will be dangerous."

"I know, but you need me," I tell him for the second time today. "And _I _need my memories returned."

He nods again sharply, his eyes glistening with unshed tears before turning to the Leapers who keep slowly making their way over to me inch by inch. From this position they don't seem threatening in the slightest, but rather like human pets who have been abused their entire lives.

I stop running my fingers through the water as silence descends on us again. Trying to change the subject off me, off Edge and his wet eyes, and off my enticing thoughts of the future, I motion up to the buzzing billboard that captures my attention. On it, in a fancy suit made of white and gold material, is a vaguely familiar face of a man. He's surrounded by floating words that read 'Memorize' and 'H3O'.

"Who is that?" I ask, pointing up to the only screen still running in the empty rotunda, one storey higher than us. Edge follows my finger, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the picture.

"Ah. That would be the heir and current owner of the Memorize Corporation, well, joint owner along with his estranged wife Scylla. He's the largest part of the root to all our problems and unfortunately he's also untouchable."

I look back to the man on the screen, taking in his face shape and eyes more carefully. "What's his name? I feel like I know him."

"His name is Charles," he answers, looking back to the screen as well. "Charles Cartier-Wells."

I gasp at his words, all thoughts about Neo-Versailles gone as I take in Edge's frowning face with wide eyes. In a moment of vulnerability, only hours ago, he had confided in me that his own last name was Cartier-Wells. It may just be coincidence that the man on the screen has the same last name as him but all my instincts are telling me they're connected somehow. "Your father?"

A deep, hollow laugh devoid of any amusement breaks out of Edge before he can contain it. "Definitely not."

"He didn't adopt you?" I press on, watching as his mouth pulls into a straight line.

"No. We share a single common interest, but that's as far as our connection goes."

I pout and cross my arms, feeling very much like Edge is just playing a game with me because I don't have the memories to connect anything together. "You're being annoyingly cryptic, Edge."

"And _you're," _he walks forward and bends down to tap me on the nose, "being adorably inquisitive, Nilin."

From my position on the lip of the fountain and with his tall stature my eye level sits directly in line with his pelvis. Even through the heavy Enforcer material I can see the definition of his muscular thighs and I feel my face heat up in response.

"You know I need to be inquisitive if I'm going to learn anything about my past."

He takes a seat next to me and pulls me into a sideways hug with his free hand. "I know. You'll understand everything soon enough and there won't be any more secrets."

I nod into his chest, breathing in his musky scent which serves to relax me. Dimly I wonder how he's going to clean himself while he's in La Bastille - not that I mind his natural musk - or how I am for that matter. Just the thought of being naked and vulnerable in a room after Vaughn's attack… I shiver uncontrollably, and tilt my face further into Edge's breastplate. The blood from the former B-178 had been wiped completely from it at some point during his stay.

"Hey," Edge says, tipping my chin up to meet him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I whisper with a nod, "just thinking about Vaughn." I'm thinking about the attack; his leering face, how his hair matted with sweat as he groped me and how his voice was raspy with lust. My lunch heaves violently in my stomach, a sensation so similar and yet so vastly different to the butterflies that were there only minutes ago.

Edge hugs me tighter into his side, trying to cup the back of my head as well in a comforting gesture. The teasing, playful mood from a second ago has been completely destroyed and I instantly regret bring Vaughn up at all.

"I'm so sorry, Nilin. I'm sorry for what you went through. I'm sorry for what you saw."

His voice is full of sympathy instead of pity, of compassion instead of anger, and it comforts me more than any vow of revenge he's declared. I want to tell him about how hopeless I felt, how scared I was and a large, selfish part of me wants him to take it all away. I want to just give up responsibilities of my feelings, my fears, and have Edge stroke my hair and tell me everything will be all right in the future. That there are no more enemies after me.

But I'm a grown woman and the best fighter he's ever seen, apparently. The best fighter Madame and the others have seen if my performance in the training rooms was any indication. I need to learn to fully stand on my own two feet again and not burden him with my troubles – though I suspect he would be more than willing to help ease them. It's time for me to be an Errorist.

"Thanks," I settle with, pulling away from his warm chest to stare up at him. His facial hair is almost calling out to me so I stretch up and stroke the underside of his jaw, taking a second to remove my glove so I can feel his coarse hair under my fingertips. If he was surprised with my actions he doesn't show it.

"You suit the scruff," I tell him honestly. It really did give his face more distinct character, especially considering he barely had any scars or wounds for a wanted Errorist. The faint one along the bridge of his nose would hardly be considered a battle-scar after all.

He gently takes my hand from under his chin and places it back onto my lap. An immature feeling of rejection wells up inside me from his actions before I can stop it, causing me to turn away from him entirely and put the glove back on. I hear him sigh and feel his lips press down on the top of my hair, mumbling my name into the locks that I sincerely hope didn't smell.

"Thank you," he tells me, his voice being muffled slightly with my hair, "each compliment from you is a treasure on its own. I'm guessing it was mostly to steer the conversation away from _him_, which is completely understandable, but I want you to know if you ever need to talk I'm always here. Even if it's not about him and is about anything else that's on your mind, I'll always be here for you. I'd love to know what's going on in your head."

I turn back to him at his words, taking in the longing in his face and his desperately sad eyes. There's no doubt that he was sincere in wanting to know what's going on in my head, or wanting to help me by just listening.

Reaching out again I take his face ever so gently into my hands and look intently into his eyes. They widen in surprise but he doesn't protest my movements or shrug me off. "Thank you," I breathe out, mimicking him. He shuts his eyes when I lean further into him and I realise I'm so close I could easily kiss his full, half-parted lips from here.

It's the perfect moment for it too but I panic, tapping him lightly on the nose in a playful gesture instead. His eyes fly open in confusion as a small smile crosses my face. "You're adorably inquisitive, though."

He looks confused for a second before he bursts out with genuine laughter so contagious that I join in not a second later. He stands, pulling me up beside him and into his side away from the Leapers.

"I can't help it when it comes to you," he says, taking a moment to enclose his helmet. "Should we go make sure the citizens aren't getting too manhandled? We don't want them hurt after all."

While I'm concerned about the people of Saint-Michel I'm much more interested in being here with Edge, and I know there's nothing we can do to help anybody out there anyway without compromising our positions on the Force. With a shake of my head I reach up and tap the button on the side of his helmet, revealing his face again.

"No, we'll only make things worse, I think."

He nods silently in agreement before making his way over to the deserted café and takes a seat at one of the tables. He motions for me to come over to him while he arranges the plates of half-eaten food and drinks in an orderly fashion.

"In that case, we still have about twenty-five minutes before the hour is up," he says, tethering the two Leapers to a nearby pole before holding out the café chair for me to sit down, "which means we have probably fifteen minutes before we're picked up. I thought it would be nice to have a date while we were here."

'_A date?'_

I take the seat offered to me and Edge takes the opposite one, so we're facing each other over a table of someone else's half-eaten Neo-Paris cuisine. The Leapers are quietly observing us, not at all bothered by their setup away from us; they don't even make a move.

Edge takes the abandoned fork from the plate and begins twirling what looks to be a form of artificially grown beef around with it.

"You're not really going to eat that, are you?" I ask, watching him pick at the food with the utensil. "I saw you sitting with the others in the mess hall, didn't you have lunch?"

He continues to swirl the meat around with a slight smile playing on his lips. "No, I'm not going to eat it. It's a shame it's going to go to waste; there's hardly any resources left to squander away, but I just enjoy pretending to be having a dinner with you in the late sunset."

"Oh."

An awkward silence befalls us while we sit at the café. I look down at my own plate, not at all tempted by the remains of the meal left. "Shouldn't we be talking about something a little more serious considering we only have several minutes left of privacy?"

Edge looks up from his dish and his easy smile disappears. "More serious? I can't think of anything more serious than enjoying the remaining moments with you."

My stomach ties itself into knots. "Now that I know what you're doing here I need to know about the future plans."

"The less you know about my plans the better. For the moment, at least. If they ever figure out how to remix memories then we're screwed."

"The skill that changes what a person thinks they remember," I say, remembering what Edge had said to me about remixing Vaughn's memories.

"Yeah," he nods, "it's possibly the most powerful technique to know. Luckily it's only us that know how to do it, but who knows if they'll ever catch on." He takes a moment to pretend to eat. "Mm, this is exquisite. You should try some."

He lifts his fork in my direction as though offering me real food and I simply look down at it with a slight frown. "You're acting like a child," I tell him, though not harshly. It was just confusing that a man of his intelligence and capabilities, who could turn my stomach into a figurative garden of winged insects, would do something so childish.

He looks dejected and places his fork back down on the plate.

"Sorry. We used to have dinner like this a lot," he says, pushing his chair back to stand, "Not anywhere this public, of course, but still something like this. I thought it might've been nice to try and give you a pleasant memory to hold on to before we went back to the prison. I know there's nothing pleasant in La Bastille."

'_Oh.' _It astonishes me that this man, who has literally murdered for me, is also possibly the kindest man I will ever meet. I stand as well, feeling exceptionally bad for the way I just handled our one-minute 'date'.

"Wait," I say as Edge goes over to pick up the Leapers, "I didn't say I didn't like it."

He looks back at me and I shrug my shoulders to try to convey what I meant. Childishness isn't always a terrible thing, I suppose; especially not in a world so bleak and depressing. He walks over to me and holds out his hand with a mock bow.

"Well, in that case, may this man-child have this dance?"

Of course there's no music playing but when I place my hand into his, with only a sliver of hesitancy, it really didn't matter in the slightest. He lifts me from my seat and our bodies entwine naturally, his hand on my hip and mine on his shoulder with our other one stretched to our side. I press my body up against his and he twirls me around in a circle.

Releasing a carefree laugh I clutch onto his shoulder a little harder as he picks up the pace, leading me into a dance full of twirls, bends, spins and dips. I'm not sure if I would be considered a great dancer normally, but we work together so well it flows into place perfectly.

The Leapers watch enthralled from their pole as we expertly glide through tables and potted plants, gracefully avoiding the obstacles. He guides me around the fountain and I can't stop laughing all the while; it feels so good, pressed up against Edge, dancing around an angel statue without any cares.

My stomach doesn't have butterflies surprisingly, it's deliciously light and warm instead. There's no anxiety or nervousness between us, and I know that some time in my past life we had done this before; probably many times. My head feels light as well, not just my thoughts – which I would consider more calm than light – but my brain itself.

A very faint static builds in my head but I put it down to the numerous spins Edge manoeuvre me into.

I'm almost out of breath by the time we finish, with Edge dipping me low, arching my back into an elegant bend. He leans down and kisses the crown of my head before I even realise it.

"You are a wonderful dance partner," he murmurs into hair, before tipping me right side up with a flourish.

I smile up at him so widely that the sides of my cheeks begin to hurt. Tilting the side of my face against his hands that are placed on my shoulders I say back, "you too."

We stay like this for a few seconds, neither of us wanting to look away first but the buzzing is still echoing in my skull, forcing me to clench my eyes together and shake my head. It builds in volume until I can audibly hear it within my skull.

"How's he doing it, Nilin?" a voice suddenly whispers in my ear, breaking through the static.

I gasp sharply, clasping a hand firmly against the side of my head and jerking it back to look to Edge in absolute shock. He's staring right back at me, confusion etched on his face from my actions as he studies my movements, his now outstretched hands still resting on my shoulders.

"Madame," I breathe softly to the voice but not breaking eye contact with Edge. His mouth drops and his eyes widen before narrowing with undisguised anger. I try to take a step backwards but he puts more strength on my shoulders, halting me completely and attempts to take my hand that's clutching over my ear. Grabbing his hand with my free one I push him aside and away from me.

He begins to pace a few feet in front of me, like a lion forced into a cage, mumbling incoherently to himself but keeping an eye on me all the while.

"How's he doing it?" Madame repeats, quiet fury softening her usually severe voice. It was much worse than if she was simply yelling. "How did Edge manage to worm his way into my prison?"

"I don't know what you mean," I whisper back, trying to inject some semblance of honesty into my tone. My heart is beating so fast that I feel like my ribcage is about to break from the repeated force, causing my breath to shorten into sharp puffs.

"Who's Edge?"

There's a few seconds of complete silence before the sounds of Madame's harsh breathing echo out in my ear. "You lie to me again, my dear, and I'll cut that wriggling tongue out from your mouth."

I drop my hand from my ear, cutting the oral connection to my Sensen but still allowing me to hear her. Edge stops his pacing and makes his way back to me, towering over my form from his impressive height.

"Madame is talking to you through your Sensen?"

I nod, unable to shake the feeling of nausea in my stomach. Things would be so much simpler if Edge and I could just barge into La Bastille and take them all out with our innate knowledge of fighting. Even though I hate relying on anyone other than myself for help I hate this feeling of helplessness even more.

"She knows you were at the prison, Edge. She doesn't know how you did it, but she knows you were there. You can't go back."

He doesn't look disturbed at the news, only annoyed and angry. "What's she saying to you?"

"She's asking if I know—"

"You're not trying to run are you, Nilin?" Madame's voice cuts me off, making me fumble on my words. "Because your tracker is telling me you're still in Saint-Michel and I would hate to have to chase you down over the city simply to have you returned to me."

I quickly place my hand against my ear, re-creating my link with Madame while Edge encloses his helmet again, not taking any chances on what might be coming for us.

"I'm not trying to run, Madame. I have nowhere to run to," I tell her, feeling like I'm repeating myself a lot today. I hear her groan on the other side, seemingly unimpressed or disbelieving of my words.

"Return to La Bastille. I will talk to you further then." And with that silence mercifully falls in my ears.

As soon as I drop my hand from the side of my head Edge grabs it and begins making his way around the fountain towards an exit. "She suspects you helped me break in, doesn't she? Bad Request normally hides in the shelters of Saint-Michel's underground, he'll provide you safe passage into Neo-Versailles. We need to go with Plan B."

I wrench my hand from his firm grip, crossing my arms over my chest. "I'm going back to La Bastille. She doesn't think I've helped you, and I still have my tracker in me; she specifically mentioned it. If I tried to run now Bad and I will just get caught, and we'll be in for a lot worse than Enforcer duties."

"Then what do we do?" he whispers, desperation heavy in his voice. It's probably one of the few times he's never had a plan of action to resolve a problem.

"_You_ need to trust _me._ I'm good at pretending, Madame won't be a problem and if she is can't I just remix her memories?" I say, holding up the glove over my hand. Edge shakes his head at the sight of it though.

"No, your glove is an Enforcer one, mine is a Hunter's glove – they're different. But I think you may be right, you've done nothing wrong. Tell Madame I've been communicating with you via your Sensen if you must, you can't be at fault for that, but leave out the details if you can. Vagueness is key here."

He opens his Hunter's glove up, the holographic image of the tunnels and dam appearing instantly above it again. "I think the situation calls for an emergency passage though," he says, before jerking his finger over the image in quick motions. The image changes from a blueprint of the dam to flashing words that simply read, 'Sector 19 disengaged'.

'_He's releasing the dam that's connected through the metro,'_ I think, watching as he closes the panel again. It's a good thing he did it when he did because not ten seconds later the two Enforcers we came here with earlier rush back into the rotunda.

Their uniforms are speckled with fresh blood and their helmets have been smashed in, concaving into shards of glass and plastic. "You two! Come on, we're taking off in another craft," one says, gesturing with their hands for us to hurry to them.

I run over to the Leapers to untie them from the poles near the café but one Enforcer yells out before I reach them. "No, just leave them. There's no room and someone else will pick them up if they don't drown. Let's go!"

Edge and I race passed the two men and up the steps they're standing on, into a new area filled with artificial plant life and more buzzing billboards dedicated to Memorize. The aircraft sits in wait for us in the open night air and the four of us quickly pile in before it takes off. There's no-one else in here besides the pilot, but there's also no cages for the Leapers to fit into.

I'm panting for breath by the time I buckle up and turn to the Enforcer known as 'V'. "Why didn't you just contact us with that thing," I ask, pointing to his glove.

"Broken."

"Ah, one of the citizens broke it?" Just how much damage _did_ these citizens do to the soldiers?

He nods, twisting his wrist around to show the full extent of the destruction done on the machine. "Yeah, either a citizen or an Errorist, we couldn't tell the difference at that point. Trace was about to come get you to show the Errorists you were on our side, calm things down a little, but we had to leave by then. We weren't going to risk getting washed away with the rest of Saint-Michel."

"So this main Errorist man is really going to destroy the district?" I ask, feigning ignorance about the situation. I know now he's not planning on doing that, but getting an idea into how the other men think could prove to be valuable. Edge shifts uncomfortably in his seat, obviously he doesn't like being discussed in this manner or maybe he doesn't like me talking to the Enforcer at all.

"Yep, I don't think we've ever heard a threat from that guy without it being followed through," V answers, taking off his broken helmet and chucking it to the side. "You were the same."

"I made threats as well?"

"Your threats were less… ah, _threatening _than his, but yes you were a menace as well. Your main spiel usually focused on agriculture and our artificial farming plants but on occasion the two of you would team up and pull stunts like tonight."

I shake my head at him, knowing what he's saying isn't one-hundred percent factual. "I wouldn't target civilians like this. I just know I wouldn't."

"We made almost twenty arrests of suspected Errorists in the last hour, miss," the other Enforcer speaks up, "and three had to be shot for carrying concealed weapons. I don't think he's targeting civilians, I think they were targeting us and they knew we were coming."

"How do you know they were Errorists?" I shoot back, disgust bubbling in my stomach at the knowledge that three people have been killed tonight. They may have been Errorists – I'm not sure how many Errorists we have altogether – but I strongly suspect they were simply Saint-Michel civilians. I couldn't blame Edge for these deaths though, and he was right, S.A.B.R.E. Force is taking themselves down.

"Only Errorists blatantly carry weapons in the streets and disobey orders from us. They were unconcerned about the flood which would suggest they knew it was coming – it's most likely they were in cohorts with Edge."

I turn away from them with a curt nod, unable and unwilling to listen to what they have to say anymore. Everything's already set into motion and like Edge said, the less I know the better.

It takes just under five minutes for the airship to reach the perimeters of La Bastille again, taking the painfully long process of lining up into an empty space before descending. From my position next to the window I can see all the other air-machines have already arrived back.

I'm the first one off the craft as soon as it lands on the ground. It's a little too dark to see properly out here at night, as it's not lit up very well, but I can see the blurry outline of Madame waiting near the door to the prison, along with fifty or so soldiers clustered around one of the aircrafts with Captain Trace at the front of them. I begin to walk over to the group of soldiers, wanting to know the run-down of what exactly happened tonight.

"And it should go without saying that not a single one of you will answer any questions posed by journalists or reporters without express permission from either myself or Madame Voorhees," Trace yells to the group.

I'm a few metres away, pondering whether I should stay here where I'm out of the way, hover around the back of the crowd or merely wait for Edge to emerge out of the aircraft. While I can somewhat hear the captain's commands from my position I decide to continue forward so that I can blend into the throng of soldiers and hear everything clearer. Plus, I couldn't risk Edge's cover by remaining at his side the whole time - especially if I get signalled out by someone, as they usually like to do.

"You!" A woman yells out, stopping me in my tracks before I make it to the rest of the group. I turn my head in her direction, confused to see she's pointing her finger at me directly and storming over to where I'm standing. The other two Enforcers and Edge scramble out of the aircraft at the same time, moving around us and towards the other soldiers without a word or backwards glance.

"I need to talk to you, Errorist," the woman spits out when she's close enough. Her face is a furious shade of red, which makes her short blonde hair look almost white in comparison. The fur-collared jacket she's wearing suggests that she might be someone of either great importance or wealth, though the fur would have to undoubtedly be fake as I've seen no animals with such a coat or any animal at all now that I think about it.

"Olga," Madame calls out in a drawl while making her way over to us, her polished cane clicking on the concrete loudly. "There will be time for that in the morning. Can't you see Nilin is tired?"

"I don't have time to wait until the morning!" the woman – _Olga – _shouts back at Madame with disrespect and fury, "David doesn't have that kind of time left. I need to speak with her now!"

"No. You have what you came here for, come back in the morning if you need something further."

"At least let me speak with Quaid. He left David's treatment at the Nymphéa to a bunch of imbeciles who don't know what they're doing and yet are expecting me to pay a King's fee."

"I said you may come back in the morning if you need to speak with any of our staff. In case you haven't noticed we're in the midst of a terrorist attack," Madame says with an air of finality, shutting down the other woman's tirade who grits her teeth in Madame's direction.

"I'll be back at six a.m. on the dot," Olga replies, narrowing her eyes at me, "so make sure she's ready to answer my questions by then."

Madame leans on her cane to stare at us both with haughty superiority. "My Enforcers eat breakfast at six-thirty. If you'd like to make an appointment with our newest recruit I'll schedule it in for seven."

With a huff of exasperation Olga storms off towards a nearby air vessel while Madame gestures for me to walk forward with her to La Bastille's entrance. I glance around quickly for Edge, but when I can't see him I follow her lead back into the prison. Not that seeing Edge would be able to do anything for me _now_.

"This way, Nilin," she says, leading me through a series of corridors and rooms I've never ventured into before. My mind is telling me with a bout of paranoia that she's leading me to the torture rooms, or the interrogation rooms, more likely. I'm sure there are rooms in this prison designed specifically for pain in all forms she could be taking me to.

She'll want to interrogate me about Edge and my heart picks up at the thought of the agony I went through while having my memories removed. If they could put me in such torment without really intending it then I definitely do not want to know what pain is like when they do mean for it to be painful, and I'm fairly sure all interrogations entail pain.

But surprisingly Madame instead leads me up to the first floor of the prison and through a door labelled 'Astrid Voorhees' Suite'.

'_And what a suite it is,'_ I think when I enter, taking in the fine furnishings of the room: the bedding covered in fine silks, the heavy velvet drapes over the clear windows that hold a remarkable view, the expensive robots tending to the cleaning and the various holograms scattered throughout it. It was a room fit for a queen – or a governor. But why would she be letting me in here, surely she wouldn't want to interrogate me in her own private quarters? It would be a shame to sully the plush, cream carpet with my own blood.

"As La Bastille's governor, I must be available at all times. Which is why I've had these rooms created," Madame says, gesturing around the room and the doorways connected to it. "The guest chamber is where you will be staying."

I jerk back in surprise, glancing around quickly at the interior of the suite and sure enough there's a door marked 'Guest' on it. "Where I will be staying? But what about my cell?"

'_This makes no sense, she must already be starting her interrogations with either a technique of mental torture, or by letting myself become attached, even comforted by her to secure my loyalty and willingly spill my secrets.' _

She takes my arm and walks me through the guest doorway, into another extravagant room complete with bedding and a small bathroom. "I've always admired your abilities as an Errorist, Nilin. I'll admit your ingenuity has cost us on more than one occasion, but I've never hated you. If only you adored me the way you adored Edge."

She sounds crazy; she wants me to _adore _her? And for what, taking away my memories and identity, leaving me a shell of my former self? Loyalty is one thing, and that's something I can understand from, as Edge described her: "a crazy, power-hungry bitch", but adoration is on a whole other level.

She runs her hand down my arm almost sensually, and takes a hold of my gloved hand. With a slight tut of indifference she removes the item, leaving my bare skin exposed to the chilly air. Holding my hand up high by my wrist Madame seems to study it for the briefest of seconds before striking forward with it, using my own palm to forcefully slap her cheek and leaving it reeling to the side.

"What the hell!" I exclaim, pulling my hand back from her iron grip. Her cheek is already colouring a violent shade of red from my enforced attack against her when I take a step back.

I feel the slightest sense of déjà vu hit me before the feeling of my Sensen charging up with flames on my neck consumes me. It's happening again, my body twitches uncontrollably before collapsing to the ground in waves of convulsing shocks. The feeling of fire dies after a second as do the involuntary twitches, but once again I'm lying on the ground unable to move.

'_Not again. Not again!'_ I scream internally, unable to communicate at all to Madame who merely watches me from above, leaning against her cane with an air of calm despite her tousled hair and marred cheek.

She motions for a nearby drone to come over. "Pick her up and place her face up on the bed."

I'm not worried about a sexual assault from Madame but I still want to thrash and kick when I feel my body being picked up by a cold, steel form and transported to the bed close by. I'm dropped unceremoniously onto it and my body bounces lightly against the springs before settling back down into an immobile state. I can't _stand _feeling this helpless and now there's definitely no Edge to help me out of this mess.

"Well, at least we can rule out Vaughn's murder," Madame starts with a smile, opening a drawer on the bedside table next to me. She pulls out the tiniest of syringes that holds no liquid but still makes me squirm violently inside.

'_She's just like Quaid.'_

"Which I'm grateful for; you're already at twelve percent for reconversion via one of our dead soldier's memories and Sebastian has been constantly hounding me for a chance to make it higher. He was practically jumping when I mentioned you might have murdered our _dear_ sergeant," she says, uncapping the tip of the empty syringe. "I, however, never particularly liked the man they used for your treatment. He was too insolent to me during his time here, and favoured that drunkard Forlan over his own governor."

Madame must notice the nervousness and discomfort on my face for she tries to soothe me with quiet 'sh' sounds as she lifts the back of my head. Taking the empty syringe towards the area my Sensen is located I feel a slight jolt come from it before she relaxes my head back down onto the pillow.

"Don't worry, I just needed a sample from you to synthesize the correct component later. I don't want to permanently ruin your mind just so that you can adore me, after all. What would be the point?"

'_Insane. She's insane. Think about something else, Nilin; anything else but her.'_

My mind wanders from Madame, trying to instead focus on the one-minute date I had with Edge over used Persian foods, and our music-less dance that, for a short time, made me forget all my worries and problems. I'm trying to recall the feeling of his hair under my fingers and the way one of the corners of his mouth crooks up into a smile before the other does. He wanted to give me a pleasant memory to hold onto while I was here and just remembering how much he cared makes me feel like I can take on anything Madame or her cronies throw at me.

"Now, my _darling_, you must be exhausted," Madame says, getting up to make her way back to the door to her main suite. "We'll talk about Edge, your role as a _female _Enforcer, and my new bodyguard in the morning."

She shuts off the light to the room, cloaking me in darkness with only the sounds of the nearby cleaning drone to keep me company.

I wouldn't have thought it could be possible, but I don't even last until the short-circuiting of my Sensen wears off before I fall into a deep, much needed sleep where I dream of Edge and his promise for a new life in Neo-Versailles.

* * *

**Thanks for reading, favouriting or following. An especially big thanks to the reviewers – I love each and every one of them, small or big, harsh or nice (luckily I haven't gotten any harsh ones yet!), so thank you. **

**Can you guys guess where I'm heading with Olga's storyline? She's not going to get remixed; while remixing is fun I find it a little **_**too **_**convenient in terms of plot and story telling, but still I can't wait to get into it.**

**This may go on a short hiatus though, so I guess it **_**will**_** have to wait. Happy 2014, hope everyone has a great year!**


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